Change. A word that slams against my psych like a comet smashing to earth. I hate change. Even if I am the author of change, I still struggle to work through it. This past couple of years has brought change in bucketfuls. 

Three moves. 
Two cities. 
Three jobs. 
Three sets of people to work with and get used to. 
Three cars.

Three other people I live with adjusting to the same. New schools, making friends, new beds.

Along with all this change comes the usual family dynamics of growing, hormones, growth spurts, adapting, letting go, anger, attitudes, compulsions, depression, anxiety, acne, financial pressure, I said, the usual.

And amidst all of this, I find myself changing. 

Changing my mind.
Changing my habits.
Changing what I believe.

The only constant in all of this, aside from knitting, which keeps me God.

Oh, wait...pain. The other constant in my life. 

In all of this it's amazing that I'm here, writing, sifting through the muck of life that's been trampled through the house of my soul. Yet, here I am. Writing. Oh, yeah...writing, that too.

Merry Christmas.



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