Time to take back the space. Do you remember when we wrote on our blogs and pressed publish and … that was it? There was no Instagram to cross-post on. No Facebook to load a link into and write a pithy caption to try and grab attention. There was just… this. Posting, and wondering if people would see it.
It is quarter to eleven in the PM. My child is asleep in his crib. I can hear him breathing. Lungs knowing what to do, over and over. A year and a half old and he has changed so much in just the year and a half since coming out of my womb.
(I made a PERSON. This astounds me over and over again.)
Not only did I make him, I cared for him since he was born. I do it daily. I take breaks so his father can do it for a few days. Then I tap in again.
I can hear the fan in his room. And the tapping of my laptop keys. Other than that it is quiet.
I can feel change coming. Artist? Paramedic? Both? The house I dream of - the old shingles, the wild roses, the view of the sea? Or something else, and these are just the things I think of now, that are leading me there?
What will I have for lunch tomorrow. I am bored of sandwiches. I am bored of preparing food. Remember how I made Adam’s sandwiches every morning? White bread. Sliced deli meats. Mayo and mustard. The same each time. I have blocked some memories out.
The two hot muggy weeks are over, I think. Pre-Fall is beginning. Funnily enough that is also a “season” in retail.
In the limitations of my busy schedule there is freedom.
It was a non-elimination leg of the race tonight.
- I've got the feeling of being scrubbed raw. A layer taken off your soul. I know, that sounds dramatic. But it's real.
- Christmas is a-coming. I want to pick out gifts for the people I love but I'm damn tired. I think I'll make a Pinterest board instead. Everyone's getting gift cards! In the meantime I'll be here listening to Michael Buble's Christmas album.
- I love that feeling when you remember an album that feels like it speaks right to you. In lyrics, in beats, in stories. Right now it's HERE by Alicia Keys. Earbuds in, and this is like juice right to me.
- Someday, I think. I'll be thriving again. What will that look like? What will that feel like? Will I have my own place? Will I have money issues? What's going to happen to me? To me and the kiddo? What will life look like?
- Driving an hour each way every day. Staying with my mother. Wondering how much to say publicly. Who to tell. The word like a whisper, a crack in ice spreading. "Break-up." A tragedy some minutes. A revelation, a freedom, in others. He hasn't told anyone yet except his parents. Why not? Is this happening or is it not?
- Is there hope? I don't know. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Will we get back together? I mean, who can tell the future? And if they could, would I believe them?
- Breathe. "Pick a word and just focus on that," or whatever the book said.
- The night, so dark. I get out of my car and there are no outside lights on. It is pitch black. I feel so alone. I stand in the middle of the driveway and sob.
- Other times I am laughing, at movies or at tweets or at other things. Other times I am texting with close friends and it is OK. It is going to be OK.
- I write here because it's my space. My writing space. "You could just keep it in a journal," says the critic in my head. Yeah, but... I've been doing that. For a month now. And I'm starting to feel ready to let people know, people other than my nearest and dearest. There is still hope we'll get back together, but there is also reality. This is my reality right now. Pregnant. Broken up. Navigating the foggy waters, seeing what life will look like. What it does look like, right now. One day at a time. And, I'm remembering, this is what I do, to get through. I write about it. (It helps that I don't think anyone reads this blog unless I specifically point them to it with a link from Instagram.)
- It's 1:11 am.
- I am not sleeping well this past week.
- I woke up hungry. Peanut butter and jelly on bread with a glass milk called me. And we're talking white-ass bread, fucking Kraft peanut butter, raspberry jelly. The suburban meal I didn't have growing up, that I'm living now.
- I got up. Made it. Ate it. Instagram-storied it. Made another. Ate that too. Fuck it.
- The truth of the matter is we're going through something. And it's not easy.
- The truth of the matter is also that I'm not ready to share. That there's more to it than meets the eye. That it's private. That it's delicate.
- Most importantly, that it's OK. It's OK now, and things will be OK, no matter how they turn out. I get that now.
- I leak tears from time to time. This is my body processing emotion. It's OK.
- The way he pats my belly, says hi to the kid. Even when things are hard, there is this.
- I miss writing, so much. I'm going to a local writers' group on November 8th. I'm making this happen. It's important to me.
- Bonus one: it's time to go back to bed now.
- Bonus two: but first, this post by Mara Glatzel from May 5. I don't know what exactly in her own life and relationship she was referring to but it is speaking to me like crazy right now.
This post format is 100% inspired by Alisha Sommer's beautiful posts.