There’s a fever in my ear, my lobe bright red the color of poinsettias. I feel the heat, wonder who is talking about me. Isn’t that the truth–a troubled ear manifesting private conversations of people I know, close to my chest, or far from my sight. I consider the chatter well wishing. Do I believe people are talking about me? I’d rather they make a call. As far as “about me,” who am I to think I’m as important as coffee in the morning?

I ran into someone who follows my blog. This blog is dedicated to her. She said, “Kristina, write a blog even if it’s just a small one.” I took this as “stay in touch; I want you to stay in touch.”

Writing has not been easy lately. The kitty litter clumps. The ink of my pen pools as I spend time doodling.

My mind is undisciplined. Schizophrenia ties ribbons around my cortex. I don’t believe you have to have schizophrenia to have an undisciplined mind. Maybe it is required for day dreaming. Maybe it is required to take the stiffness out of life.

Time feels rapid. The new year is here. I’m as excited about it as I was excited about 2015. Change will come in little bursts of motivation.

I welcome 2016. I trust it will be good to me and I good to it.

My ear loses its red. No one is talking about me. Flowers rooted to the ground don’t always need water. It is quiet. No TV. No stereo. No other person. Just the sounds of my cats cleaning each other as they lean against my leg. I am seated on my bed. Light inches towards my window. Mostly my window is in shadow, although it’s clear to see through. A man is walking his dog. Beautiful. Beautiful peace.