rollin' in Wainscott

I am between the words that move me most and the ones that make me sweat, the ones that will bring you to your knees,

and so I'm writing here due to recent complaints. :-)

I feel centered. I hear thunder and no longer fear the end, no longer see chaos that breaks but beautiful danger, the kind that comes in the ghost stories we tell each other and my stories when it's very late and I'm very tired, an almost drunken tired that lets me whisper any truth and you listen, back to wall, face to me.

I am not as messy these days and neither are my girls; look at them, chins up, legs straight! They hug me when I walk in. You're all right, Coach, you're all right. They make me laugh. They want to know everything: Do you, like, shop at Abercrombie or do you only wear Cortland clothes? Do you have a boyfriend? What's a Masters? Does that mean you're NOT going back to Cortland? What level were you? Did you try out for the Olympics? You KNOW this song? Are you coming to lunch with us? Are you coming to IGC with us? You should!

And I like that you don't label me "Diana the nerd" or "Diana the gymnast" or "Diana + five or so descriptions" and decide that you know me entirely, seem shocked when I deviate and smug when I don't. I grin and say you weren't born yet but you know that I am not this this and that, I am everything. Right now I am not healed. But I am mending.