Process. Or whatever.

What comes through? Repetition, comfort, knowledge ... this play is not, actually in my bones. The words can surprise me. "It has been so long since he died." How do you say that when what you mean is that it has been two months when you also know it has been ten years. Which do you play? You must play two months, only that is a lie, and I hate lying.

The joy emerges, the joy of telling. It has been hard to feel joy. I am just too tired. And busy. Distracted. This is nothing new.

And then there's Ali and Kelly over there, commenting on my blogging. This is my ten minute break, yo.