Choices.

My dear friends, and any passers by...

...phew.

This is a small, tired puff of phew.

Here me is, one week since I move with me mother to the sunny side o’ Florider, most o’ me puff poofed outta me.

Me dears, I decide if mama want to move again, I ain’t twitching a muscle again. I gon pay somebody to pack, unpack, repack. I ain’t care if I got to sell me toenails to pay.

As for me, I finally learning that other people choices ain’t got to be mine. 

It gon sound selfish but I putting me health first. Me creative writing, and writing as a business, is a priority too. (That is a story for another day.)

I realise this, friends...caring for others don’t mean sacrificing we-self, suffocating we-self, sealing up we dream in a box and shoving it into the back of a cupboard, taking it out to play with it every now and then, putting it away for a few days more with grief in we heart.

We must, we should, find a way to turn we dream into a garden.

Take care of you. Eat well. Think about this, if you can’t take care of you, how you gon take care of them who need you? Wishing you sweet dreams and plenty energy and love,  neena.