Ahh...

Once upon a time I was a writer, then I became a wife and mother and office manager, and chauffeur and cook and cleaning lady...

And now I'm a writer again. God, it feels good. When I'm not writing, I'm thinking about what I'm going to write about next. Every event in my life is potential postings or stories. I love it. It feeds me like nothing else. Even when I do my art, I think in terms of words -- how to display them in fibers or paint them on fabric. It's always been about the words. Always.

Last night I sang words loud and I'm sure, way off key, but it felt so good. And then after coming home, I got to use my words in a soft mushy juicy way. And that felt oh so good. To be able to have both experiences in the same night was phenomenal. It was truly a celebration of my life as it should be. I deserve to be treated like I was last night (and this morning). I deserve to be treasured and looked at and touched with such gentleness. It was an act of honoring my divinity with others and then one other.

This, my friends, is what life is all about. Singing at the top of my lungs, dancing to my heart's content, and then being ravaged in total abandon.