Crafting The Golem

Yes, I will admit today that I am made of mud and spit. If I need a new organ, I go to the dust of my failed endeavors, gather it up into a pile with my callused hands, turn my head to spit (I am a lady), and mold and sculpt. I fashion it somewhere it's needed, and I move on. Plastic surgery for the soul.

Along the path, I try to avoid cesspools and decaying trash, I say good-bye to narcissists in my mind even as I live and breathe around them, and generally carry on a separate life in my head that involves a world where less poverty and angst exists, where people carry love around and share it, and where I am a contributing member of society.

Even as a healer, I struggle with the question of whether I have and do make a difference. I get reminded from time to time that I have been helpful, even pivotal. I archive those reminders so that I don't get lost in feeling aimless.

I've recently begun an MBA program, and am hitting screenwriting hard. I am a darn good writer. The combination of the two feels like a cocktail of some kind, and I feel the parts of this Golem come to life.

Every day, I am closer to finding that divine breath that will make this body of mud and spit a divine creation. No more will I need to be the Dr. Frankenstein to my monster.