I've been all tangled up lately. One night I go to bed and feel contentment wash over me. The next night I go to bed and feel fire breathing near my ear, hissing. I am doing it all wrong. Everything. In my mind words have been side by side and lightly dusted on top of each other, flowing like clear water. Here, at they keys, they don't come. I show up, committed, and end up staring out the window. Listening to the birds. Watching the curtains billow in the breeze. And then there's behind the lens with confused eyes, frustrated.
I poured a glass of red wine. He had a milk. I made the salad and he made the pizza. We talked about feelings, math, the garden. I had smiles and tears in my eyes. This is what I needed: an evening cooking dinner alongside a dear pal and my child. Slightly out of focus, sharp in the heart.
This morning I turned my desk around. I took the glare off my screen and set myself up to catch a slant of light by my side. Lavender thyme incense smoke is rising up above me as bits of ash drop. The windows are open. I am alone and I have given myself time to be here, to face these shiny black and white letters and do something. Something.
Then I remember.