“And you keep my old scarf, from that very first week, ’cause it reminds you of innocence, and it smells like me.” – TS

God/Goddess/Goodness… How many times did I imagine wanting to be my old self again, but still tryin’ to find it? How long, and in how many places, and in how many ways did I look? And now, so strange it’s surreal, it seems like he was right here all along. Buried under a layer of soot and ash, I guess? Hidden by the veil of tears? On temporary reassignment for other duty? I honestly don’t know.

“Back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known.”

All I know is the sun just crested in the archtop window behind me. It’s [can I say?] fan-tastic. Like I scraped all that evil dark paint off overnight, when I was up prowling at one-thirty, and then forgot during the three more hours I crashed back into my pillows. Snooze | Snooze | Snooze. So that just now it came as a surprise in beauty. (Not “-ing beauty”. In beauty.)

To riff in a different song here: “I feel your light upon my face.” I think I might be able to do this. I’m going to try to do this.

It’s not gonna be too cold; I’ve no errands to run — no one to answer to — nowhere to go; two electric loads of hard pots awaiting glaze, and plans and anticipation. Gotta fire up the glaze brain; it’s been dormant way too long. [Again.] But I can; I will; I always have before. The first load always feels worse and harder than it is. Even during those times — years? — when I wasn’t here anymore to do it; even when that imposter had to go through the motions to get through another firing, another sale, another life.

You can choose to live in your regrets, or not. It’s good to see the recursion coming, and to know when to