Smoke Signals

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(or listen here)

This was meant to be a different post. Same title, different content.

I wanted to write about how if we don't fuel the spark of drive, curiosity, creativity, and fun then the fire never gets going and at best what we give out is just smoke from dying embers. 
I wanted to write about my musings on where I might find oxygen, heat and fuel for my flame. 
I wanted to wonder about where you might be finding yours as well. 
I wanted to see the stories we send out into the world like smoke signals out into the universe to be received wherever they may land in whatever form they land. 
I wanted to wonder about how, in the end, we are all the stories that we've lived and shared, with the hope that mine wouldn't end up being some choking smoke no one cares for.

Instead I received news that MrexH is moving closer to where we are.

This news is most unexpected and has knocked me off to be even more threadbare with my connection to living.

It feels as if everything inside of me has fractured just that much more and I can no longer grab any significant pieces back up together or reassemble correctly. It is as if I am one of those grosgrain heavy wefted ribbon people unraveling in a surrealism painting. But instead of seeing some beautiful sky or poignant landscape as I unravel, there is just a bunch of smoke billowing out from a very poorly fueled dying spark.

Before you say it, I already know that even though I am not responsible for all of the circumstances and stories in my life, I am responsible for figuring out how to oxygenate and properly heat/fuel my own fire. It is my job as a human lady person.

Perhaps I will get there. Perhaps I will be too unraveled and too late. Today is not the the day, I can assure you. Today I am reassembling the fractures as best as I can so that I am prepared for a conversation with SonHerisme to explain the changes with MrexH.

If you see some smoke signals coming from me, I hope they aren’t too difficult to breathe through. I hope they can get refueled to tell a different kind of smoke signaled story – one more hopeful and satisfying.

*fingers crossed* No falling in the river for me today – I would disintegrate at this point. The smoke is wispy at best.

I'll take deep breaths and keep moving through the day-to-day things. 
I'll deliver the clothes to an immigrant family. 
I'll make vegetable chili. 
I'll do the laundry. 
I'll carve the pumpkin. 
I'll tend to SonHerisme and MotherHerisme's needs. 
I'll give the doggies some puppy loves. 
I'll tread lightly until I can go to bed and read a little bit (nonfiction fuh sures). 

I hope that you are a-okay.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. today is a blustery day. My favorite kind of day. One of my favorite kinds of days. A Winnie-the-Pooh day. I hope that you are okay.

One thought on “Smoke Signals

  1. Pingback: Diffused Burdens | HERISME

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