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Two weeks ago I was all shades of blue: the great steps I thought my body was making in getting well were reversing, stress was creeping in the background from school, and then came the news of Callen's passing, which flattened me entirely.

Ryan didn't know what to do, the sweet man. He felt so urgently helpless, would tell the silliest jokes (in the car, I said something was an abomination and he looked at me with his crooked grin and said, "That's where we live! An Obama-nation!" Wah-wah), and even came home with a fistful of carnations, so serene and stayed blooming until this morning.

I think of the color white, how it represents peace, and how I need to find ways to fill my life with that sensation: to allow my body to take its time, to celebrate the positive relationships I have, to enjoy the process of things.

At a friend's suggestion, I have contacted an acupuncturist to work with some of my woes. She and I have also begun a small conversation that includes my deeply considering getting doula training. The prospect makes me shiver with nervousness and excitement; it's something that veers so far from my passion for language, but it touches on that slumbering self, the one that loves to pick things up and look close, the one that is curious about the scientific world, and, as my internship "boss" put it, I want to do something with my post-MFA time that matters. Besides writing wee poems, that is.

Edit to add: just moments after I posted this Dina gave me a call and I have my first appointment for acupuncture, which is a week from today. She's worked with folks dealing with my particular issue before, and this whole prospect makes me breathe a bit better.