Endo appointment was a typical one, a case study in the fine line one must walk between sacrificing just enough and sacrificing too much: T1D, I’ve found in my almost five years with it, is nothing if not a perpetual balancing act, a give and take, between living and staying alive.
(You will not take my breakfast cereal: this is a line that shall not be crossed.)
Kirby endured his first thunderstorm in a melange of abject terror and chewtoy coping while I passed a significant threshold in The Work: 12,000 words… cut.
But: there is forward momentum, diving deeper into the tale, bit by bit. Reached a point where I was comfortable doing so, apparently having crossed that Saunders-threshold of the positive-negative meter (he writes of it briefly somewhere on the web, and at length in A SWIM IN THE POND IN THE RAIN) which gave my brain / instinct permission to continue forth.
A modicum of intuitive permission? Sounds about right. Maybe the goal is to add to that permission each day - a little bit further into the water, as Mr. Bowie would say.
Recording THE GROUND LOOP’s return this afternoon; you can find earlier episodes here.
Listening: DROPSONDE, by Biosphere… SIGNALS IV-V-VI, by Sabled Sun.
