Breath.

Sometimes it just feels like you can't even breathe.

Sometimes you find yourself sitting in your underwear on your bed, and you've pushed all the covers off.

The fan is blowing cool air toward you and your legs have goosebumps but you're too stubborn to get up and pull the blankets back on top of the mattress.

So you just lay there. Arms folded underneath your head, legs tucked as close to the center of your body as possible.  You stare at the grey-blue wall. And even though your chest is rising and falling with the miracle of breath, and with every inhale and exhale your heart beats steadily onward- all you can think to your quiet, fragile self is, "I can't even breathe."

Home alone this week.

I'm finding out I'm much worse at being alone than I thought I was.  I don't like being in this large, empty house by myself. All my childhood and early pre-adolescent daydreams of "FINALLY BEING ALONE" have died.

I don't look forward to the opportunity to have the house to myself.  I wish I could fill it right now with the laughter of the people I love.  I wish I could curl up next to _____ and fall asleep safe.

It's 10:19pm and I'm exhausted.  I wanted to be asleep by now.  I was almost asleep when I was downstairs on the couch, watching the latter half of Freedom Writers on TV, after spending a good amount of time cleaning the kitchen, watering the plants, and taking the garbage out.  (Who says the Little Woman can't take care of herself?)

I thought to myself, "Sweet peaches, it's only 9:30.  If I go to bed now, I can sleep for almost 9 hours before I have to wake up!"

As soon as I laid down in my big, empty white bed, I knew I had to write.

I went back and forth.  "Sleep.  Sleep is more important.  You can write tomorrow."

"I've been in a funk for days.  If I don't write, sleep won't matter.  I'll still be forlorn tomorrow."

"Why don't you let tomorrow handle tomorrow and just go to bed?"

"I can't.  I owe it to the art.  I have to write.  I have to."

So of course I turned over and pulled my laptop into my lap and now here I am.

Forlorn, quiet, alone and exhausted.

With that Royals song playing on repeat in my head, "We will never be royals, it don't run in our blood..."*

Sometimes it seems silly, but with all that's going on in the world, all I can really wrap my head around are the tiny, insignificant things.

The way I get really pensive when I'm tired.

The smell plants give off when hose water showers their petals and leaves.

The way Ryan Gosling looks in a vintage silk suit.

The word "shishigashira" to describe a Japanese maple tree.

The unfathomable depth and unpredictability of the wantonness of the human heart.

Why on earth Chuck Palahniuk thinks writing a sequel to Fight Club will be a good idea.

How it is that they make Frosty's look so damn good on Wendy's TV ads.

How much I would rather be camping than lying in my own bed right now.

How certain people in your life make it easier to breathe again, and how you wish you could just be sitting with them over coffee, or tucked inside their car, both sets of feet on the dashboard, or mindlessly perusing the shelves of the local bookstores, talking with them and being silent with them and sharing in multiple heartaches just by allowing yourself to be fragile with them, because they've allowed themselves to be fragile with you.

What are goosebumps?

Why and how and for what purpose it is that sometimes you can literally feel someone hugging you, even though they've been miles and miles away for a long time.

How many more days until I can see you again?

"We don't care, we're not caught up in your love affair."*

Sometimes I really hate how much better I am at writing than speaking my words in communication with other people.

10:44pm.  My eyes are sore.

I think knowing I'm the only living thing in this house gives me insomnia.

Where's that mysterious memory-mind-hug phenomenon when you need it?

"It's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near-escapes. So I take pleasure in the details.  You know.  A quarter pounder with cheese, those are good.  The sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle... And I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights, and I ride my own melt." **

Where are my favorite pair of eyes?

10:56 PM.










*Royals- Lorde
** Reality Bites