this is november. this is my blog. this is my life.

I am not at all certain how to begin. A major life event is happening to me, but it is one I don’t feel free to discuss publicly, just in case the lurkers are still out there, dissecting my language for petty crimes. Not once now but twice it has been made clear to me that while I feel I’m just sending words into the ether, people are paying attention. Usually empathetic friends or digital friends, but also sometimes those who want to use my words against me to hurt me and the ones I love. Both those instances have been completely and totally devastating, leading to me leaving my job three months later; and now, leading to my partner, best friend, caregiver’s emotional break. As he was just beginning to make sense of his past and what it meant for his future, he lost one of the most important people in his life, the person who understood him best in the world.

And now, he is not here. I drove home in the dark last night. 45 minutes down a winding, glistening midwest interstate, the 60 mph winds shoving against my tiny Kia with what felt like malevolence.  Partial dead trees blew across the road like tumbleweeds as I held tight to the wheel with both hands, tears streaming down my face, Radiohead blasting through the speakers.  As I drove and thought and cried and screamed and worried, the clouds began to part, scudding across the southern sky like black, angry ghosts.  Lightning still skipped between them, but suddenly the sky became illuminated completely, eerily, in such a new way that I was startled and reminded of the time my mother and I saw stunning Northern Lights in the middle of nowhere, driving late at night.

Carefully glancing upward, the moon. It was full. It was undoubtedly the night of the full moon, and it shone like the dreaded halogen lights you hate to see blaring toward you on the highway (particularly if you are a migrainesse). It shone through a huge hole in the clouds, and a ring of pink formed around it, and the lightning continued in front of me. The wind continued. Leaves skittered and blew everywhere, traffic lights swayed, the shiny black pavement now gleaming silver.

And I was scared. And I was alone. But the moon.

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2 thoughts on “this is november. this is my blog. this is my life.

  1. Elizabeth, the depth of your agony can be felt in the beauty of your gifted writing. Much love to you. Much love I send you.

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