It's too bad that we have to hang out in our own heads so much. I kind of feel like my own experience of life would be a lot better if I didn't have this brain of mine to deal with. But here I am with these old eyes, and this spastic motherboard that processes all that they see, and this is what I get. These are the tools I've been given, fidgety and twitchy as they are. Can God do anything with poor old me?

Life is good. My children are my deepest blessing, and you are right, friends, my husband is adorable. He's funny, he's smart, and he sings silly songs almost as often as he breathes. Our house is incredible, funny and Victorian and hilly and I love the friends who are around us and we had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

But my self is unsettled, and I haven't found the ground underneath my feet yet. I feel like I'm tripping, I'm not sure of where the boundaries lie. I'm not sure of what I am and am not allowed to do. That sounds stupid, doesn't it?

But for real, this is a big change. For instance, we have this fridge. It's really nice, I think someone wasn't using it anymore and kindly passed it along to us, I'm not sure about all that happened before I got here. It's big. It's nice. And everyday I walk over to it and open it and I think, "Is that really my food?" I mean, I have a fridge full of my own food. I'm twenty-seven years old and have never eaten in a non-communal way. In our last house, at the Land, we had a little half-size fridge. Up at the Big House was the kitchen, with the real food, not the juice and salsa that our fridge held. And the real stove was up there, too, while I had the single burner Coleman camping stove that I cooked the morning oatmeal on.

This is really different for me. I am pawing the ground a little. I am not sure if I am allowed to be happy here, yet. I am a little nervous.

Maybe today is just a strange day. I've been having them, on and off. The victim services people from B.C. wrote to me the other day, sending me information about Critical Incident Response. The pamphlet shared all of the things that I may or may not be feeling or experiencing after having an accident like mine. I have to say, I'm feeling a lot of them, but what comes from the accident, and what comes from moving, and what comes from a major life change? And what comes from just being crazy ol' me?

It is a good time for a little journeying, I think. The kids are staying here with Chinua, and I am traveling with some wonderful women. We leave very, very early on Monday morning, which doesn't even really count as Monday, I don't think. It's like the day in between Sunday and Monday.

Maybe somewhere along the way I will regain my rhythm.

I tried uploading some photos but the spotty wifi in my bathroom will not allow me to show you any pictures. Oh well, soon. And after I get back from Burkina Faso, there will be internet galore here at the homestead. (I'll actually be able to READ BLOGS! Good heavens!)