Lately I’ve been experiencing what Buddhists call “monkey mind”. I’ve been easily distracted. It’s Covid Brain. Lockdown brain. I’ve found I can do 1 full on fully focused work day followed by a day of distraction. I'm giving myself permission to work this way.

A friend texts me.

She notices the little light in the sky she’s seen every night since The Great Conjunction.

It gives her peace in a time not peaceful.

The sound of silence.

I recently started hearing it so loudly I can’t sleep. It wakes me.

They call it “The Hum”.

It’s a rumble. Like an idling engine on a parked car. A slight vibration.

Trust. That’s my word of the year. As Jill Seale said I’m “putting in the work”.

I spent the long weekend lingering at home thinking about 2021 and what I want.

At the stroke of midnight New Years Eve I stepped outside with my neighbors and we had champagne and sparklers.

New Years Rituals. The last two days I’ve been in Post New Years Mode.

Writing my resolutions.

Creating a vision board.

Determining my priorities.

I am still working my through deciding on my word of the year.

Those of you who followed my #quarantinediaries will remember Harvey. My pet seagull who started coming daily during lockdown. He came every day around all of March April and May. He was banging on the windows at all hours.

Standing in a silent Venice, next to the canal, I looked up at the same stars I watched from my backyard in Oklahoma as a child. From here with my feet on a wooden pier next to the canal - the view of the sky is the same as it was with my feet bare on the wet grass at home. Home. I miss it. I have a keen longing for Oklahoma. And yet now, I wish upon the same bright stars

I write. That’s what I do. I was born to do. My maiden name is Clark. I am a scribe.

This morning I journaled in Italian, writing a simple diary in foreign language. I journal daily. My top resolution for 2021 will be to keep my journal in Italiano instead of English.

Because I have been informed there aren’t enough cat pictures in my feed.... And because as I journal this morning I am realizing 2020 for me has been all about stopping to not only smell the flowers but to play with them.

Il Ringraziamento. How did I not realize Thanksgiving occurs in the same week as the Festa della Madonna della Salute - the annual feast celebrating the ending of the plague.

Before the Pandemic Anxiety was a Stranger on the Bus.

My nature is to face confront the things I do not want so Anxiety never sat down. He stood holding the pole. I gave Him a withering stare and he jumped off at the next stop.

I’ve lived one hundred and 3 years since this day 3 years ago. (2020 has been 100 years long) But today I am remembering the moment I needed to go to Bangkok to finalize designing my jewelry collection @republicoftoma.fashion but instead of flying East from Venice to BKK I took the long route through New York.

Today I emerged from the darkness into light. As a child my parents read me the Serenity Prayer... God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

I open my windows & wave incense around my apartment- driving out any negative energy or bad mojo. The bad news has to end. Basta. I don’t accept any more bad news. From now on only good news is welcome here.  I shut the windows and crawl back into bed and sleep.

New routines in these new times take structure. I wake. I write. I meditate. I pray. I do yoga. I drink lemon water. I eat breakfast. I have my coffee. I finish my Italian homework - il compito - I walk to school - la scuola. I go to the home office in the afternoon.

It’s a miracle. I jump to my feet. Ha. Take that Siemens! Victory is mine. I shake my booty and then because I liked the booty dance I continue rocking the way down my hallway. Fortuny follows. I’ve got this.

My friend Amy - who happens to also be a doctor - took a look at my singular stigmata.”It looks wet and flesh is sticking out.” Her husband Peter was here last week when the accident occurred. We walk over to the Piazza San Marco to the first aide office so the doctor can examine the chicken fillet piece popping from my stigmata.

For the last month I’ve been practicing non dominant hand writing as a spiritual practice. You’re more open to the spirit - to your subconscious- when you write with your non dominant hand. And now, as it heals, my right hand won’t function. I’m Forced to listen. To meditate. To breathe. 32. There’s something about that number in numerology. I look it up. 32. creative expression, teamwork, relationships, sensuality, optimism, curiosity.