Is my grieving uncomfortable for you?

Is my grieving uncomfortable for you? 

I am in a deep hole. Darkness surrounds me. 

I’m cold and alone. 

I hear a voice call from above. I feel my way to the wall and start to climb. They are made of mud and are cold and slick. I can’t find a hand hold, I claw and scrap.But I am climbing too slow for you. You want to shake me out of my grief, you call for me to, just jump out. I can’t believe what I’ve heard. 

Jump?

And then, I am alone. 

I start scratching and clawing the walls of the hole. I don’t know if I am strong enough or going the right way. You come to the edge again to tell me how ridiculous I am being, how I need to spread my wings and just fly out. How stupid I am. Each taunt is a stone you rain down on me. I put my face to the wall and hide. I hang there waiting for the barrage to stop. 

I am alone again. 

I look up. 

I see the sky and the sun shine. 

I begin to climb. 

You are there again and you've brought your happiness with you. You stand at the edge flaunting it, eclipsing the sun and sky. More stones rain down on me and I begin to feel myself slipping towards the darkness. I close my eyes and hold on until the stones stop. 

Minutes...hours pass. I am trapped there, barely holding on. My hands are cold and cramping. My arms are tired. My soul is torn and bleeding. I open my eyes. I again see the sky and sun. I look down at the dark, cold, hole and I begin to climb.  

I want the sun, I want the light.

At the top I lay on the grass feeling the warm sun on my broken body. You are waiting for me. You hug me tell me that you missed me. Glad I am back again. 

I stand. I walk back to the edge of the hole. 

You say it looks dark and cold. I agree. It was lonely, I tell you. 

You smile at me and say you were glad you were there to help me out. How I wouldn't have been able to claw my way out if you hadn't been there to cheer me on. It’s during this that I see a rope and a ladder lying beside the hole untouched. I point to them. 

You didn't need them, you say. I helped you, you say.

I smile, push you into the hole and walk away.

Write, write, write, right?

Re read my sad, sad, blog from, holy crap, three years ago? WTF. Get on with your life woman.
Get on with my life? Okay, I will thank you very much.

Submissions are going out daily. I will be published this year, possibly next year. I have it on great authority that I am a pretty good writer. My husband said that and my sister, which is quite a happy surprise. 

I write almost daily now, not out here of course, but somewhere, on my computer, on Brent's computer, on a sheet of paper, on my grocery list, and I have finally had a revelation that no one will read my genius unless I get out there and show it around. With that in mind I have sent my manuscript to the comma guru, aka Missy, and she has stayed up late and worked weekends fashioning all sorts of sweet ways of saying 'this doesn't make sense' and 'whaaaat?' I also think she is having a comma stamp made so she doesn't get carpel tunnel. Big thanks to her for all the love she has shown me and my writing.

Brent, my hubby, gets a big shout out as well. He tries, and tries to get me to see what he's saying, but it's like he's the teacher or parent on the Peanut's tv show and I just can't understand what he's trying to get at. Sometimes I even accuse him of trying to secretly change my manuscript to be the way he wants it and not how I intend. Bless him he never admits it. It's really quite funny. One time, after writing and rewriting and revising my 2nd query letter I had him read it. He got to the last paragraph, the one I was having trouble with and blurted out "This part's crap." Then he flinched. I laughed and put him at ease before I punched him. He never saw it coming.

So long story short, I am still writing and I will endeavor to write out here more. I will try to balance my life a bit more and get up earlier so it's easier to do. I will also try not to be as hormonal or sad as I was in my last entry. Suffice it to say I was sliding down the wrong side of the butter knife, but now I am balancing on the edge.