* * * STILL NOT ABOUT WEAVING BUT NO GIT-NESS * * *
Thank you for indulging me and going along with my latest identity crisis. It's been one tumultuous almost-week, typing and trying to say out loud a name I dared not think of in 29 years.
I'm feeling worn out and old, like those dolls with apple heads. I have no skeletons in my closet any more. Nothing to run from. No mystery. If it weren't for Ben, I might have dusted off my passport and maps for a fresh start.
Maybe not. I can't imagine lugging the big loom and managing to travel like the wind. (If I could draw, I would seriously give this one a go.) Nor, for that matter, this old body.
In a few hours, a new week starts.