In Rooms with Women/Artists I Admire: One - Dessa

There’s a moment after meeting an artist I admire when I mentally slap myself. Palm smacking my imagined forehead, I fixate: I said THAT? Why?  Why did I use those words? Did I communicate anything? What was I thinking?

Birds in the trees, you know how I feel.

Birds in the trees, you know how I feel.

Which is an overly poetic way of saying that I burned out. Hard.  My habitual multitasking and perfectionism (which got me through highschool and college) broke my adult life. I was balancing on the knife’s edge - except it felt like pretty stable ground to me.

Then, my beloved dog - the little four-legged bundle of stubbornness and unyielding love - did what all living things do.  He aged.  He died.  And I plummeted