This summer has been writing, mostly all about writing, but I can only write about my Mexico trip in so many ways, from a certain number of angles, before I must leave my house again and experience new things.
I stare at my ceiling and don’t see a whole lot, kind of like my future sometimes, but mostly because I can’t see. Still, the weight of it sometimes feels like a banging, from below and above and from all around.
Just don’t look up maybe.
I fear it collapsing on top of me while I sleep. Water marks where the pounding rain got through are, in my bad dreams, destabilizing the entire roof over my head.
But when to fix it? How to fix it?
I debate when to do something more about that, just what there is to be done to make any possible upgrades to home and life.
If I stay tucked away inside here, I fear I will eventually be sealing myself off forever.
I fear I will forever be afraid to stay and also…afraid to leave, at the same time.
And so, the roof repairs will soon begin. There are many more stories for me to tell.