...

I don't think I have anything to say today. The weather is lovely. Lovely enough to open my windows and to breathe the fresh air without feeling stifled. I continued my sock and completed the gusset. I slept poorly, my daughter having woken up at 2AM with a bad cough. But she is not sick and I got no migraine after the loss of sleep. I read a while, made chocolate chip muffins, did homework with my daughter, made Sunday dinner, cleaned, set the bread machine to make a bread overnight. I did neglect to feed my starter, Lord Souron, but I feel that overall I did enough.

But I promised myself to use my space whenever I needed it, whether I had something important to say or not. And today I feel sharp. There is, in my eyes a burning. My tears cen't seem to blink the non-existent sand away. And my chest feels very tight. As if a bubble of air were expanding where my heart is. And my throat feels like it is closed up and my head aches. I don't know which is worse, the fear that I am not safe, or the realization that I am safe but that I won't be for long. Because I am often so slow, and so wrong in my perceptions that I do not know if I ache for today, or yesterday, or the week before. But I'm being vague and all over the place, aren't I? It doesn't matter because these words are my sanctuary from loneliness and where I refuse to fear my humanity... at least not here. I have nothing to say today. Except that everything feels so damn sharp.

Maybe this was what it felt like to be human and normal, if such a thing as “normal" existed, even among humans. Was this a life she would have wanted? So impossible to judge. The world was a series of fenced-off fields, each patch of grass categorically greener than its neighbors.
– Sunyi Dean (The Book Eaters)