Hey, guys! I know I’ve been quiet for a few days. We got some news (that I won’t share here, so please don’t ask. We’re fine, though) that made us do some reshuffling. All is good. We’re still healthy.

Plus, the next Murder Hobo episode is one I want to play out in the group on Saturday before I write it up. If any of the Hobos are reading this, any scribbling you see me doing is me taking notes so I get certain parts right. LOL. Mainly it’ll be reactions, possibly some direct quotes. Thia’s got something weighing on her soul right now, and she’s not going any further until she gets an answer to at least one question.

I like to think I’m a strong person. I’m one of those that people turn to when they need a shoulder to cry on, etc. Where the problem lies is what happens when I need that shoulder?

I’m not made of rock. Cracks form under pressure. Quarantine certainly qualifies as pressure! When that happens, I lose my center. I lose my connection with the earth beneath me, the sky above me. My soul grabs for whatever straws it can find to keep me from giving into the pressure. That’s when the cracks get the widest.

In the past, I could ask a friend over for coffee. I’d vent, we’d laugh, and all the pent up frustration and anxiety would dissipate. I can’t do that now. Phone calls, texts, message apps…it’s not the same.

Extroverts do not do well under isolation. Check on us, please. Because we’re usually the ones who are strong for everyone around us, not realizing that our own souls are fragile as well.

I’ve spent time doing what my family calls ‘witchy things’. Meditating, burning sage, thinking on my trip to Scotland. That week gave me a sense of peace I cannot explain fully. The strip of cloth I left at the clootie well is doing its job.

The pieces that felt so fractured earlier this week are coming back into place. This cannot last forever. It will not. She will not let it.

BB