Hard week. Couldn't say why. Whatever is inside my chest feels brittle and sharp and I feel cut off and disconnected from the people in my life. No one to talk to. Sometimes it feels like there's so much trapped up inside me that I can't say or don't know how to articulate to even myself that one day I'm just going to fly to pieces.
I went for a long run listening to my old running-fast playlist instead of my boring Washington biography or the GRRM book I'm rereading for the hundreth time. Running fast in the cold blowing air hurt in a good way and made my nose feel slightly like I'd been hit in the face, that slight tang of blood in my sinuses.
Tonight I'm going up Betsy Bell to forage with a friend. I don't think it's been warm enough for morels yet, but what do I know? If nothing else, it will be good to see the old girl. (The little mountain, not the friend. I admit, I'm not feeling especially sociable and have been less so as the day goes.) I wouldn't mind collecting some nettles for tea though and maybe a clutch of violets to make a syrup. Outside, the wind is banging and throwing stuff around my yard.
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