a domestic mind

I have begun neglecting the T - not in an I don't have time for you now why don't you go play there's a good child sort of way but rather in blanks and absences - the way one is supposed to let go of imaginary friends. I am forgetting what I used to think she was.
I suppose this is good in a small twisted way, because most of the things she thought and felt I find I let myself feel without proxy.

I am I.
It is a new way for me to be: to be me.
Me to be me.

I think perhaps I have always been myself, only - selectively and in bits and pieces; and that is not bad, not bad precisely, just less than healthy. To split myself up into seven blogs speaks not so much of a desire for order and control (which it is, you know, mostly it is. the question is not "why do i categorize", but "how do i choose to categorize", and the answer to that tells much) as of a need to feel all I feel in parts; in manageable doses.
(worlds collide. i know half a dozen people i love who will know what that means. isn't a sally shared a splendid thing?)

I am happy again. Happy in that painful-feeling-in-the-chest feeling-like-floating sort of way. Not all the time, and not as much as I have felt before, but the recognition acknowledges it, and it is what it is.
And this time I am happy because I made myself happy.
There! What an admission, to be sure. :)