The cursor is blinking, a simple upright line, telling me that I have not turned thoughts into words yet. I have been staring at a blank white text box for many minutes thinking of a million things and not knowing where in my mind to start.
I am thinking of the novel and its many stories that I am reading. I am sensing being lonely at work. I am remembering a conversation I had on Wednesday night and being hopeful of newness and authenticity. I am considering writing a book and wondering about that. I am feeling warm from a chance encounter with an unmet-known-of person who recognized me, cared for introductions to be made, and was kind. I am noticing the taste of a banana strawberry smoothie (and how most people call them strawberry banana smoothies, but that seems strange to order the fruits outside of alphabetical order like that). But, what am I trying to identify...
There is a persistence in an undying line. I awake prematurely and see that light is just beginning to enter this part of the world. It is still early, but not far enough away for comfort. I rotate my body, changing position, to try to shush my mind from guessing what time it is and waking up more surely. Sometimes I find a few more minutes even within an hour's span, and sometimes I rotate again and again until that one last minute of peace surpasses its last second and the inevitable alarm and all its irritations invades the gentle and sounds in my head and worse, my body. My tired body that needs to lie still for three or four more at least. And honestly I feel like I am in very real pain. The pain of waking a body and mind that has yet been unable to find solace for enough to rejuvenate and replenish, much less invigorate. I know that rest is what I need (so it is already identified and needs no reminders), but I am a grown-up now and there are responsibilities and I must adhere if I mean to keep up. Time and sleep can be the most noncommittal, evasive pair of friends even if they are such beauties.
Another seven-days have passed and it feels like a new hope. Strange... how the passing of days can be encouraging for new ones. It seems backwards.
{fuji instax mini: let's share and we can be each other for a time}
© kimberly k taylor, all rights reserved
© kimberly k taylor, all rights reserved
1 comments:
1.You definitely should write a book! I would buy it.
2.Isn't that a great feeling when someone remembers you and actually cares enough to introduce themselves? Those small kindnesses are so often neglected.
3.I hate that feeling, of trying to steal just a bit more sleep before the clock goes off and forcibly steals any possibility of further rest- it is such a painful reminder when you are lacking in rest. I have nothing but hatred for alarm clocks and being dragged from sleep. I hope you can find the rest you need soon.
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