There is a lot I could write about right now, at 2:00 in the morning on a school night, when I’ve finally cracked open this page and typed words into the screen. A lot has happened since my last post – when was that, anyway? not recently – but honestly, it all seems too big to tackle right now. An adult-parent divorcing their spouse, critical life and career choices, the sudden death of a much-loved friend. It’s all hovering in the back of my mind at all times, waiting to be talked out and written about. And yet, right now, I’m tired, or not there yet, or both. Maybe I’m tired because I’m not there yet, and the idea of putting my feelings into words is still overwhelming. I don’t know. (It could also be because I never sleep, and my brain is in a constant state of fatigue that can only be fought with the venti-est of caffeinated beverages. Does Starbucks sell IV-drips, yet? Well, JUST GIVE THEM TIME.)
But on writing – a part of me has probably been procrastinating to protect my own mental health, knowing that some hills are too high to climb until you’re ready. Anything I would have written over the past few weeks would have felt inauthentic, knowing that my heart and mind were elsewhere. Sure, I could have banged out a few half-assed paragraphs about the crazy shit my kids are doing – they are never NOT doing crazy shit – but it didn’t matter. Not to me, not at that moment. Of course, the kids always matter – but I wasn’t up for taking a funny spin on poop-disaster stories and the other indignities of mom life.
So what brought me back here? Well, two things.
1: I took a four day vacation to visit my brother in northern Ontario, along with my sister. We hiked until our limbs nearly fell off in protest, we drank bad caesars (and later, delicious ones), we talked and laughed, and then slept in for hours. I feel recharged, and somewhat recovered, even if I was deluged with calls and emails the second my plane hit the tarmac back in Toronto. Thanks, reality. And also…
2. I saw a headline I was interested in reading, and clicked the link, and it led to a podcast. I hate podcasts, so naturally, the raging writer in me burst forth. DAMN YOU, PODCASTS. I just wanted to read words on a screen, not listen to a full-length radio show! Do you know how much effing commitment a podcast is? Seriously. And now you know what my next post is going to be about, maybe. (Actually, it’s what THIS post was going to be about, before I tried to explain my absence and delved into the emotional rabbit hole that ALWAYS opens up under me. DAMN YOU, FEELINGS.)
So it’s a new day in many ways, and back to the grind in others. Let’s see how long I can last before I break again, in the way life tends to break me, if only a little bit. And soon: podcasts, aka, UNREADABLE SPOKEN WORD THINGS THAT YOU CAN’T READ ON YOUR PHONE OR SKIM BEFORE BED OR REALLY DO ANYTHING WITH UNLESS YOU HAVE 45 SOLID MINUTES TO DEVOTE TO THAT SHIT, seriously, it’s like radio mixed with internet but disguised as typed-word articles, always, just to fuck with me. Why are they so popular? Am I this old and lame? Am I even allowed on this internet thing? Someone bring me a thick paper storybook that smells of dust and pine, and I’ll be happy forevermore.