Week One

I live in New York.
It's been a week.

I think I was expecting quicker results on my apartment, job, and life search.
I want decisiveness! Ingenuity, courage! Luck, even. Maybe a little bit of faith.

My far flung assumptions about my own entitlements knock the wind out of me when revealed. How silly! Silly, silly girl.

Dad, in response to my request, says, "Maybe." Followed by, "I have to see the whole picture first."

I can't say that I blame him. I have been unreliable, non-committal, so many shades of flakey it turns my head on its side, with tears.

To be honest, I am terrified.

In the real world I flounder. I put up spikes against possibility, defend ego more than honor; I anger easily over my assumptions when they reveal themselves as false.

The word that characterizes my last few years is one: paralysis. For years, only this. The 'free spirit' with no ties or boundaries, shouting of wisdom and spontaneity, hope and a life fully lived, was always only paralyzed. A rolling stone, yes, gathering no moss, but only because she's mired in mud.

I regret speaking.