here's what i remember: i was writing a book, trying to tell a story...
and it's so hard now to get back into it, to pick up where i left off, to remember how to let the words spill out; mainly to ignore everything else around me and focus on what's in my head. there's so much else crying out to be done right now: eating, cleaning, shopping and planning, even putting on make-up. they all seem to be tasks of utmost importance, yet they are not. they'll still be here when i'm done. it's okay to ignore those things for now, to take advantage of the quiet moment and practice. there's no time for a marathon right now but that doesn't mean i can't stay limber and in shape. i don't want to get so rusty and stagnant that I can't make it down the street anymore. (man. am i hungry! that sandwich is not gonna cut it. even though i need it to. i really can't afford to waste so much time eating all the damn time.)
yep, and now i need to pee again. it tries my patience to be so closely bound to this mortal coil of flesh.
(if that's ^ not a pretentious sentence then i don't know what is)
it's raining pretty hard outside. just started. not sure the asphalt was even warm enough for the smell of creosote? to form today. and this is what it is, trying to write. trying out words, putting together sentences, forcing my fingers to strike the keys, whether or not my thoughts make any sense.
i can't shake the jittery feeling though and i feel like i could cry. i just want to go back to sleep and get back on a regular routine so my bowels can get themselves back in order.
there is nothing here. it feels like...i don't have the words. any words.
how can my first baby be turning fifteen on Monday? how can the cone headed newborn i saw for the first time just yesterday, be old enough now to drive a car? to sit at his laptop in the room next to me and listen to David Bowie sing about 1984? how is this slow, yet paradoxically fast, time travel possible? where is the pause button? why can't we make it stand still?
now the rain is gone as quickly as it came and i am halfway through a single size serving of coconut flavored yogurt. my head feels congested and it's getting hard to breathe in through my nose. the tears refuse to stay put behind my eyelids. why does it feel so shameful to just let them roll?
our family vacation begins next week and my sister turns forty the week after that and my daughter picked up a back-to-school list at wal-mart yesterday, and i cursed its very existence. i'm not ready for these children to advance another grade, to age another year. and yet i need them to go if i'm ever going to be able to get back to work and finish the story i've just begun to tell.
a book about time. and faith. how one affects the other and vice versa. maybe this is why we don't make a habit of watching the sun rise every morning. why we no longer sit on our porches in the evening and let it sink out of sight. perhaps it would break our hearts too much to welcome each new day with joy, knowing its farewell is a mere fifteen hours away.
and so it goes and so it goes, i'll try to follow the advice i heard on the radio this morning, to say what needs to be said, even if it's "too much." i don't want to be the kind of person others have to steal love from because i was unwilling to give it. best of luck to all of you, still trying to do the same.