"What are you thinking about?"
I had so many things on my mind it was difficult to pick one, or explain how I got there.
Sometimes, in the midst of all life's hullabaloo, one is forced to slow down - to stop - to rest in a certain place.
It would be accurate to say that I've had my hands tied, recently. It's never before begun to feel right. But this time, it does. Like a giant release of hot air, I've begun to let go of managing all the separate alcoves of my heart.
I've let go of managing all the people that are in my heart.
I've always been a "fixer." A friend at school graciously dubs me a "restorer," but I have found that tackling the problems of others does not, in fact, always result in restoration.
This weekend, I sat in our house in Long Beach and watched the rain roll in, fresh awake from a nap, with my hair in a nest on the back of my head. I drank tea. I listened to Yo Yo Ma. I did some work for a report on the politics and economics of culture.
I turned on a lamp as it got darker. I found a blanket in the recliner to wrap around myself. My mother called.
I wrote a paper.
I crawled into bed, and listened to my cousin's old, arthritic dog shift laboriously in the open space outside my room, and heave a sigh.
I fell asleep.