Being able to plan for a period of illness with a finite timeline and a known positive outcome is like preparing for birth
. . . my life is ripe and full and luscious . . . Like aging, this opportunity to mature and learn is a gift . . .
It's time for women to call out the shitty back-stabbing behavior of their fellow women, the behind-the-hand whispers, the opaque negotiations that exile the less powerful and truly stand with and for each other.
I sit for a moment in the sun, breathing its warmth into the corners of my lungs. It was a good, hard three hours, and I'm ecstatic, filthy and exhausted. It's planting season, and the next six months hold mysteries I haven't even contemplated. But what will come will be managed.