Comfortably Numb

Hello …

Is there anybody out there?

Just nod if you can, eh — read me.

Is there anyone at home?

I am thinking about y’all and thinking about getting back to writing. My last few posts have been about how I’m going to write again. About how I’m getting back to my old self. About how I’m gonna do this and I’m going to do that.

But I haven’t.

Truth is, those posts have (unwittingly) been about me sitting on this very uncomfortable fence. Sitting and sitting and letting time pass and letting moss grow on my soul. I’ve been sitting on this fence so long that my arse has become, well, comfortably numb.

Before I dig through all the shadows of a few years’ betrayals, realizations, stumbles, recoveries, near death experiences, and subsequent hiding, cocooning, healing, and peaking out behind the curtains to see if it’s really time to reemerge or if my wings are still too frail to survive those first few sticky moments in order to start putting words on a screen again, I need to know if you’re really still here.

A few of you contacted me one-on-one to give cyber hugs and I appreciate that more than you can know.

And. yeah, I’m fine. I’m just, you know, comfortable. And (if I’m going to write, I may as well bother to be honest) a little numb. OK. A lot numb.

And it’s maybe-possibly-potentially time to get uncomfortable. And . . . un-numb.

Maybe.

Are you still with me?

I think I might be almost sort of possibly in a safe enough space to articulate a notion that could pass for a vague semblance of rational thought.

Maybe.

If you’re here with me. Letting me be needy. Holding my hand through the scariest parts.

Yep. I was the big brave Bad Witch. I was the toughest Heathen with the biggest vocabulary and slung-est sack. My god-gefrain was sexier than Shakira at the Super Bowl. Yep. That was me.

Then.

A whole lotta then.

But I feel like I can be 100% That Bitch again. I mean, I am–way down in my well-tested-DNA. But I need to wear it like a pointy hat again.

And I have caught fleeting glimpses out of the corner of my eye. We all know how this goes: I turn to look but they are gone and I cannot put my finger on them.

(I can hear you singing, btw. –And you have a lovely voice.)

I’m becoming uncomfortably un-numb.

Tentatively yours,

Ehsha (is that even my name?)