ataxia

Sometimes trying to write is like...well facing a room where the furniture is all over the place -- most of it blocking the door. Going in. getting across, to "the other side" -- it is so hard. That is how I feel. I remember the room when it was in order. The light was streaming in -- dancing off the crystals meant to catch the light and play with it. Beauty everywhere. Windows wide -- an inviting panorama. but ...
today...
clutter, shin-high clutter
walls of things out of place
windows blocked....

I stand on the door step and try to ponder going in


but


I just can't

Maybe tomorrow...I'll try

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