Hacking Undergrowth

I had every intention of letting this little collection of writing go to seed. I was just going to know that it existed but then let it languish and eventually kill it.

Then on Saturday Jeannie said, "Hey Amelia, I'm ready for you to start blogging again." Just like that. Oh, hey. Just thought you should know.

Busted.

Mostly I feel embarrassed about the Ideal Man Manfestation posts that I put out there last summer, and even though G was completely spot-on with her comment/observations and they were a necessary detour on the way to where I am, I want to obliterate their existence. But I'm not going to, because all of the messy embarrassments are also part of the confident realizations, so I will leave them there in all their glory. And funny now in hindsight that I have actually met and become involved with someone utterly spectacular (more on that later of course) just how unimportant cats and American football are compared to Tolerating (Celebrating?) My Crazy, Liking Me for Me, and Showing Up.

Nothing of note happened in September and October, so I'm going to start reflections mid-November and draw up to present-day. They probably won't be chronological, but woven together and encompassing my mother's death, this burgeoning love relationship, and my friend's suicide attempt and subsequent recovery (though my focus will be less on her story, which is hers to tell, and more on my understanding of how the soul and spirit and eventually body descend far enough into the will to self-annihilate and then begin the arduous process of fighting their way back to the surface).

I'm grumbling. I'm simultaneously kicking and screaming and dragging my feet. I'm pouting. I'm writing.