It happened again.
I found myself standing at my kitchen counter, staring. At nothing in particular. The fog in my brain stirred just a bit, a familiar remembrance – I was going to do something; write something; I had words in there, I know I did; I should write them down while I can.
The house was still, quiet except for the low murmurs of my children playing together far off in another room, the basement perhaps. This never happens – them playing together without fighting. Well, maybe not NEVER, but rarely. Once a week, if the stars align.
I know I need to seize this fragile moment. Get something done; do something productive.
I should write that blog post I’ve been thinking about, or read some heady spiritual book to become more present, or watch that Oprah podcast that will change my life. SOMETHING, DAMMIT! Now is the time! They won’t stay peaceful forever, and this spell will be broken when someone inevitably sticks their toe in someone else’s airspace and they all start screaming.
But what am I doing instead? Standing here dumbly, feeling bewildered and useless.
I look around, and decide to go outside to pick up dog poo. That’s productive, right? At least I’ll get some sunshine… vitamin D is all the rage these days.
Litterboxes next. Seems like a person around here could keep themselves perpetually occupied with the collection of feces.
Hm, now what? Still quiet, no screaming. I should probably go upstairs and turn on my computer. I probably have time…
But I already know what will happen: as soon as I start putting some good words together and sit down to scratch out a sentence, a screech will cut through my creativity like a chainsaw:
“He threw a pillow at my Cinderella doll and she can’t have her tea party now! AHHHHH!”
“I didn’t do it! And I’m HUUUUUNGRYYYYYY!!!”
(or, as if I haven’t dealt with enough shit today) “I just pooped and I need help reaching my BUUUUUUTTTTT!”
So instead, when there is a lull in the chaos, I wind up at the kitchen counter, frozen. In fear.
I am afraid to let a creative thought blossom in my head for fear of losing grip on it just as it starts to sparkle.
I am afraid to entertain the possibility of letting my words flow for fear they will log-jam and scramble themselves when the Fancy Nancy theme song suddenly starts blasting from downstairs.
So how did I manage to write this, you ask?
Well, today I took a leap of faith, pushed through my fear, rattled my head-fog around a bit and turned on the computer. In fact, I think I might actually have enough time to…
“YOU’RE A DUMMY-FACE! I’M TELLING!!!”
“NO WAY! SHE STARTED IT!!! I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”
(maybe next time…*sigh)
©Skye Nicholson 2020