I wanted to put up a post today but I really have no idea what to write. But, considering that each time one sits down to write about their day & figure out what really on their mind, I find you actually end up capturing a moment in time, either for yourself or an unintended audience. So, thinking of this post as a mini-message in a bottle, bobbing on the vast waves of the internet, I thought I’d give myself at least 10 minutes to write to the unsuspecting reader.
Right now, dusk has nearly fallen outside my window. The light burns fiercely, yet quickly when the sun sets earlier now. When I wake up in the mornings now, a persistent sense of unease shadows my thoughts. I feel anxious that everything is undone, that there are numerous errands & deadlines that are approaching critical need. And when the sun goes down in the afternoon, I feel giddy with frustration & unhappiness. It will never all get done, my mind tells itself, It’s all failing & clearly it’s your fault. Don’t ask for specifics; that would mean this terrible anxiety would have to make sense & making sense requires so much effort.
But, I make myself push forward. I make myself dust the fans & switch their rotation for the season. I make myself answer emails & arrange for phone calls & visits. I make myself follow through with my Spanish & Norwegian lessons on Duolingo. I make myself do something & even if the effort is disconnected from the goal, I try to have faith that just moving forward is enough. I’ve certainly read plenty of books that have told me so, fictional stories as well as self-help books that illustrate the persistence of the will that loves life. Or at least cannot be persuaded to give life up.
On my desk, my mug of tea is cold. I sip the final dregs & pieces of nettle, vitex, raspberry leaf, & cinnamon float towards my lips. From the kitchen, my husband clears his throat, puts something or many somethings in a hot pan so that they sizzle in oil. Sniffing, I think I smell chicken. I call to him, curious what he is making, but he can’t hear me over the hood fan. Recently, I had been looking over books in Goodreads, trying to remember if I had a certain Star Trek tie-in novel or not & the strangest sense memory came over me. I could not remember one thing about the supposed plot of this novel, but looking at the cover, I had a distinct impression of floral-yet-clean scent that had come from its pages or from nearby wherever I had been reading this book. The closest I could describe it would be violets tinged with dry smell of book glue. I’m trying to recall it now, but all I can smell is whatever he is cooking.
Well, it’s actually been 20 minutes & I’m getting close to 500 words. These few paragraphs may not have any interest to anyone who stumbles upon them. But I’m sure you understand, Reader, sometimes the look of one’s words or the sound of one’s voice is enough at times to keep us motivated, to feel a little less alone.