A sudden punch in the gut of anxiety and grief is just something I have learned to breathe through. Like every pain, it passes.

The holiday season is prime real estate for these emotions, but I’ve just… kept breathing. I have had few nights where I have not woken from pelvic nerve pain, only to lay awake hurting and overthinking the worries that I thought sleep would help me escape. I need to call Bayer Pharmaceuticals to see if there’s any way not to interrupt my injections by an interruption in employment and transfer to COBRA. I’d do it right now, but my phone is in the mail somewhere between Batesburg and Charlotte on its return trip from being left at Mom and Dad’s.

I could be an absolute wreck of a human being right now, but that’s not what I want and I can control my situational reactions. I can breathe.

I’ve completed my first gallery-ready series of mixed media work. Well, ready to be gallery-ready once I can afford the 20×30 prints. And find a gallery. 🙂 I am a terrible consumer of art — having long just been an admitted admirer and historian, I’ve never for a moment given realistic thought to the merit of my own.

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