saturday

there's never been a saturday before, has there? this is the first every saturday and it feels as new and untouched as it feels like the repetition of a thousand lives prior. 

i am, again, in my childhood home. i have read about fear recently and have been wanting to speak to it. i am still in this process.

however, the matters that currently pertain me are ones of physical nature. ones of feeling the softness of a yearn thread or the wetness of clay. i always get tired of speaking, of writing, of thinking - and in turn i watch. i hear. but i don't really see or listen. these touches have brought me back to earth and i'm grateful for them right now. 

but they're not enough. i miss the thinking and the being. i'm unsure how to get back there, it's a masterful plan that always fails and i always try to bring again. it feels futile and fragile in my childish hands. perhaps these are the only hands i will always have. right now, they only need to touch something. 

i cut my hair today. perhaps that will help.