And now I'm fine.

This is going to take a lot longer than I thought.
And I could do without the sudden flinch worthy flashbacks, Memory. Okay?

Saw Harry P a second time, read all of book one in one night last night, had a good day, going to shower and then make dinner and then go to a concert with fellow stand up comedian Billie. Church tomorrow, lunch with Mom, and then swing dancing in Peoria, apparently.

Oh, and I wrote a new poem. Check it out on my poetry site.

Word.

Is it better to simply move forward instantly from a life experience, shrug everything off, and hope it will all heal on it's own with enough time?

Or is it better to wallow for a certain amount of time and work through it, step by step, hoping that drudging up all the old will somehow pacify one and then wash over you, clean and able to move forward then and only then?

Is there a balance?

I don't want to go on bedrest so to speak, but I also don't want to slap on a bandaid and jump back into the day to day, ignoring the twinge everytime the metaphorical wound breaks slightly open again if I bend the wrong way. This is a huge metaphor, p.s.

I've just realized that I'm still a little sore about some past o mine, and I know that I'm rather purposefully making myself think about stuff, but at the same time, I know I can't just say, "Oh well," and be fine.

Or maybe I could?

Oh well.