(Snoopy smoking a blunt and Charlie Brown with a cup of purple drank on a train in White River Junction this morning) 
I used up most of my courage at a Reiki training over the weekend. Now I have just enough to show up for Notebook Club, but not enough to write the way I want to. Everyone else dives into the sea of words. I pretend to swim. They think the rest of me is in the water with them, but really it’s just my head floating on the surface.
Most of the essential bits are back in the relative safety of the boat.
In my dreams I drive the way I used to, merging onto the interstate at 65 miles per hour like it’s no big thing. Like visiting my family wouldn’t be the end of the world.
It all reminds me of when I sprained my knee and dreamed nightly of running up and down the stairs.
“I’m not even sure why I’m here,” I said to the instructor in a moment of panic.
“Because you want to heal,” she answered.
Don’t we all?
And don’t we all wish sometimes that healing was more linear and straightforward?
I climbed onto the table. She put her hot hands over my eyes, my ears, my heart.
On the next table, another student began to snore softly. Tears spilled down the sides of my face and into my hair.
I never did manage to unclench both fists at the same time while she was working on me.
also: 