light on a bed

On the flight home from England yesterday, I stepped into the aisle to find the lavatory — I had suddenly begun sweating profusely — and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor with various attendants around me.

I could barely move or talk. I definitely couldn’t keep my eyes open.

They put me on an oxygen mask and a tank, and I drifted in and out of consciousness for the rest of the flight. I think it was three hours from home.

I thought about all of the people I loved.

I thought about all of the people I had just recently met in England.

I thought about whether or not I had lived a good life, and I told myself that I had.

Later, at an emergency room in San Francisco, I was told that there was nothing seriously wrong with me. I went home and fell asleep. Today, I am tired, but my spirit feels strong. My spirit feels strong, but my body needs to rest.

For the people who are new to my space: thank you for being here. I adore you already.

I will try to show up however I can in the regular posting schedule: Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. But I do want to give myself the space to recover, to rest. I know you understand.

I wish I could say something about how much journaling helped me this past week — because it did. I would write a tome if I could, but I’m too tired. It reassured me that the Rawness of Remembering class, for which registration is closing this Saturday, is important and good.