misty watercolor memories

I have been dragging my foots for years now. Leaving thick black streaks across the floor. The ultrathick soles of my shoes are paper thin in places and rubbing blisters into ma tender foots. At long last. I have moved but no one knows to where. With no final destination to report, not knowing my next big move, I have been bashful about getting in touch with folks. And still am.

I went through my University email account and started collecting up email addresses and I reallized that I have met so many wonderful people. And I have done a really lousy job of keeping in touch with them. I have question marks next to so many names. Has it been too long? Can they still be reached at this address? Is it insulting for me to try to get back in touch with them? Will they be offended? What if it has been too long and there is nothing to say? What if time has changed us too much and we have grown apart? Do they even remember who I am?

In part I have been so silent because I have nothing to report. No wedding, no offspring, no raises, no purchase of property, no big moves, or new jobs. I have not cured cancer or solved world hunger. (In either case I suppose they would read about it in the paper and not need to wait for an email from me. =P) For years and years my life was ( and might still be) a line from a Joni Mitchell song: "Everything comes and goes, marked by lovers and styles of clothes."

Sure, I did stuff: tai-chi, cardio boxing, radio show sidekick, makeup user, piano lessons, run a 5k, concert promoter and staffer, sounds girl, radio interviewer and producer, cover band singer, songwriter, social drinker, knitter, cat owner, spider solitaire player. But for whatever reason it did not seem worth mentioning. Much less the hours spent on the confocal microscope and setting up fly crosses and marathon dissections and immunoprocessing. And image after image of negative or ambiguous data.

But perhaps that was my problem. My underestimation of the life that I was living. BW thinks I need to embrace the fuzzy nature of my life and just go with it. He might just have a point there.

I am looking for a Christmas card that reads: "I know that we have not been in touch for years. Too many years. I hope you are well. What's been up? Despite my tendencies towards worry and self-criticism, I am doing really well. I think of you fondly. We had grand times back then, no? Sorry you're getting this in February. Many hugs."