It turns out it has been a long time. Settling the accounts of hometown wounds, exploring the champagne problems of living lightly with a little money to burn and more money to steer my boat where I want to go, not just where I have to. It is, in fact no less irritating than having no options. But this does not mean I am not infinitely grateful for the spill in my lap, but that strange American? Dream that all things get fixed at some point, and "then I will be done" is a no show. All Hail the adaptability of the Human to still live and interact and to want and desire and be unhappy. My flesh, my waking life, my love to love it is all bubbling to surface, my meditative trance of survival is dissipating into happy little clouds. And now the fierce visionary women I claim as i unpacked the sparkled trunks of a lifetime surrendered to storage years ago have come to rain in my spain. And I believe I can dance all night again.
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