Some days are more complicated than others.  Some days, I just feel empty, and sad, and lost.  Some days, it feels as if nobody will ever help me, that I must do it all myself.  Some days, I’m ignored, and I slip through the cracks, broken and shattered.  Some days, it feels like a useless task to put one foot in front of the other, and for what, to continue to be in pain?  Pain unending, tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, never ceasing.

Some days are like that, even in Australia.  It doesn’t help to be intelligent.  Being smart just means I can find even more ways to justify my philosophical insignificance.  I can look at my contribution to the world as a whole, and find it tinier than a mustard seed, smaller than an electron.  I am just so small, so insignificant, so fragile.

Why does that fill me with such sadness, though?  Why does it disturb me to be a nobody?  There were days when I was younger, before my children showed up, when I would enjoy my shield of invisibility.  People would ignore me, whether political signature gatherers or panhandlers alike.  I know that witches tend to be able to cast glamours, to be able to shine forth with the confidence that makes things happen around them.  Well, that was not my power.  Or was it?

Perhaps I was the quiet one.  People who heard me speak tended to listen, even to my quiet sparse and well-chosen words, because I had thought it through, and usually had a very valuable perspective to add.  I did not attract attention to me by charm, but rather by force of idea.  When I had no idea to share, I blended into the background.

I think I’m lonely.  I think I’ve found people to talk to online, but I know my online friendships are fragile, and exist at the whim and mercy of those who control the electrons.  So the dark times have come again, and I’m sad.  I know that death is coming.  The slow shuffle, the rattle of bone against bone, there is no victory against it but that which has always been so.  Some things will end.  There is more than one way out of a burning house, but first you must acknowledge that it is burning, and desire to escape.  There is more than one way off of a sinking ship, but first you must acknowledge that it is sinking, and desire to leave it.  There is more than one way out of a broken life, but first you must acknowledge that it is broken, and desire to leave it behind.

Some days, pain and fear are gifts to be treasured.  Other days, pain and fear overwhelm all sense and desire.  My confidence has deserted me.  I am left troubled by what I have wrought, and I don’t know if it is even possible to make it right again.