I’ll have to stop talking about my son soon, that he wasn’t very well for a few weeks. I’ll have to draw the curtain on that time, and say goodbye to the uncertainty of days going well, of a good night’s sleep.
Today my phone was glued to my ear, talking to friends and making plans again. I feel like when you don’t hear other’s voices you begin only trusting your own.
Ask me how I know.
Remarkable isn’t it how we are shown life one card at a time, even if we’re dealt a messy, steaming pile of ... it — whatever is coming comes at us in a conga line, like we see letters then words then a story or rhyme and piece by piece its meaning arrives.
Soon though life becomes more than you need and like Alice in the door room, you have to pick. You can open them all, twist the handles, let in the light streaks but for only a glimpse, no more than a peek.
At some point it’s time to go through. Leave the old ways behind, cross the threshold to something good, something new.
For a year I’ve been folding the spread of my digital life, trying to squash it down into a canapé bite-sized slice, instead of this sprawling ego-puffed beast, that in turn feeds the hungry data clams as we talk and as we sleep.
The novelty is the hardest to shake.
I spend time away where nothing is fake.
I spend time away using my hands to make.
No more SNL UK-holes.
But I come back briefly and my eyes don’t shut, the scroll feels fine why did I give this up and I’m back in the SNL UK-holes.
I chose Locker 117 at the pool – I never use those ones as it’s in the middle and hard to get to – but inside was a lost sticker that said “therapy is cool”.
So funny, I thought. Apt, I guess.
I think if I’m honest writing is my therapy, and you beloved reader are invited to comment: star guest.
I think a lot about my values, those who share mine and those who don’t, I think a lot about my role as a mother and what it must look like to my little one my neck bent fingers tapping on a glowing square below.
The world is better in 3D. The proof proves itself relentlessly. Smiling lambs of spring, a geode on the beach. Open Mics with a shaky voice, but now more people have heard my poems than just me.
I’ve let the drawbridge down, the heavy door’s been wedged open now. Days turning brighter one at a time, the curtains pulled right back —
I can see for miles.
xoxo
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