It sits there, in it's place, torturing me. I know I need to write. I know I need to confess. I leave it there with its accusing black sc

A beautiful mess?  That is an oxymoron of my hyper organized personality. My brain wants to believe messes mean one thing. .

I have to work at not being frustrated these days.  All that we have been doing and want to do is in flux.  I am also in flux. 

This group of people who have come together—these people who did not know, just 45 days ago, that we would be headed, in just a few days...