When I’m Not Here
When I’m not here, I’m apple picking and working and not running and dancing and laughing and walking the dog. That dog doesn’t walk far or really that often, but somehow I always feel like I’m walking that dog.
When I’m not here, I’m forgiving my neighborhood for taking down the bridge and closing the library. I’m reading three books at once. No. Four. I’m feeding a sourdough starter and drinking all the coffee and not mopping the floor. I love mopping the floor. Why am I not mopping the floor?
When I’m not here, I’m writing for work and not writing enough for me. I’m working on that. Or I’m thinking a lot about working on that. I am meditating more and listening to Vance Joy.
When I’m not here, I’m parenting and loving this kid so much. I’m frustrated and out of patience and feel like my heart is bursting. I’m laughing and trying to do a cartwheel and laughing some more.
When I’m not here, I often want be. I often don’t. Because that’s how these things go, I guess.