Yesterday's blueness holds a desirable tranquility absent from the emotional and energetic violence coating today. It started with waking up. I think that I have to find something to wake up to besides NPR. Now that war news is the lead story, I rose to Kruschev-like threats from North Korea and escalating denials from Iraq regarding the evidence presented by C. Powell yesterday. Call me a weenie but I'm not built to deal with that. A shrill vibrating hum settles in behind my eyes, down through my voice box, and out between my shoulder blades in response to the posturing and shoving. I cry. I agonize, cradling my groundwater belief that we can do better. It's hard on me, constitutionally.

I can be accused of being too sensitive; I'm not sure where the label will get us, but if it suits someone to call me that, I won't duck it.

When we arrived at work, there was a personal email waiting for my partner that was so toxic and distorted that I'm not sure I can convey the intensity and impact with my words. It was literally "stunning". This message was the latest in what has been a protracted and grief-laden process plaguing her relationship with her mother. It was illogical and eviscerating and paranoid and so painful--so very, very painful. The hurt of it and the grief of it are two-fold. The first layer comprises just the words and statements themselves as they rage incoherently through time and space, bearing only slight resemblance to actual events. The second layer is the morass of grief that accompanies acknowledging that a parent has abdicated her role, utterly.

As mate, I've only had the poison slopped on my shoes from one point of view; but I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge the stirring of my own feelings, the tension in my own body. I ache with the pain of it and I feel angry that she thinks this behaviour is acceptable. Inside, a keening wail wants release. Mostly is for the tender heart of my partner; some of it is for my own injury.

And.

There's a commercial software vision document to be written; there are meetings scheduled. So, with bizarre and reality-splitting emotional sleight of hand, I put this aside for now and get on with the day. To aid me in the energy transition, I've got 14 Louise Hay "Wisdom Cards" laid out on my desk. When my mind begins to travel toward the bucket of emotional slop that needs sorting, I read some of them, re-center, and promise myself a substantial date later today. It's what I can do.

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