I used to think I set off to do Your Will. I understand more now that I do only my interpretation of that. It’s limited, at best, this that I do. My physical strength is puny, my senses limited, my memory worn as a picked-out sponge, missing bits of itself & leaving a spotty clean-up at best.

Fear still holds some deep pockets in my psyche tho I’ll deny that til the end of days! I still exist as thoYou do not. I am a bargain-basement kind of human; really useful when needed. I’m small, I fit into corner cabinets or shallow drawers.

But you know, Allness, I don’t stop at one brand name. I do the Carol meme most surely, the synapses trained in Me are most ingrained. But there are so many pieces missing now. I choose the face of self from habit

I write this from the twilight of awake-not-yet; that time when I’d really like to go back to sleep, too late for that. I see myself as a child, sitting in a stroller, handles curled to either side of my head like ram’s horns. I’m thinking, “Clean me” as everyone bustles about & I am forgotten as I’m quiet.

I do not know if the phrase is a command, a demand, a remand… it doesn’t really matter as it simply hangs here.

I feel friends reading this over my shoulders, tapping their lips. They aren’t sure what to think either. Being unable to make assumptions, they surmise, which is worse.

I thought confidence would increase with aging. That strong song of being reached a pitched harmony, a high note & now gentles into a kind of breathy hum. I’m glad to still hum.