40 and Crawling

My body feels hijacked and crashing into the ground in ways I don't understand. 

Literally groaning in bed at 5:30 this morning just repeating " I don't understand."

My desire to know everything, this desperate scrawling hunger for knowing, is based on some sort of desperate attempt of my mind to make sense of shit.

But like, none of it makes sense!

Even when you make sense, it's like, adding more nonsense.... You just know there is no sense, more and more. 

And that even when there is sense, that doesn't mean anyone has to admit, notice or adhere to it. 

It's all chaos. 

Random. 

And I try to prepare like I'm the probability drive of some Douglas Adam's spacecraft. But I'm just a damaged, aging, neurospicy woman who hasn't been supported and held in the space she needed, maybe ever? 

Because she didn't and still doesn't understand what she is or what she needs. 

And she'd love to get back to everyone on that, but uh, it just keeps getting weirder and more confusing and harder.  

And goshdarn she's trying but she's tired and everything hurts. 

And she's 5 years old and 105 at the same time. She's trying to cradle the baby and hold the wrinkling hand at the same time. 

And the mirror betrays her, her body cries about war crimes she's committed against it, and everyone's charging her with neglect. 

And yet she's so goddamn happy and grateful to eat one blueberry off the blueberry bush she's keeping alive with daily watering.  

Glad there's seven am bird calls and demanding douglas squirrels that take peanuts from her hand. Wholehearted grateful she can still make art and raise her kids. 

She is full of tired bones and genuine surprise and relief to have another day show up but wishes life wouldn't wake her with such brutality on most occasions.  

I'm trying so hard to be a person.