Some days

Some days

 

I walk away from a dinner with friends

and scold myself, because something in me says

 

No, don’t leave me alone

 

with the thoughts

in my head.

 

You know those days

 

you wake up and it’s the same ideas over and over

 

same stimulus patterns

same prompts

same results. I travel down the well-worn path of

 

why are you upset?

What happened?

 

Why did you react the way you did

Was it justified what was the solution

 

Okay

 

I have the answer.

 

Good. Now

 

why are you upset

 

what happened—

 

…and ask:

why are we repeating ourselves?

 

Sometimes

I forget

 

How to stop the spinning

 

How to go to sleep

 

When nothing’s gone wrong and I know it

When I’m circling around the small things I could’ve done better

 

(Because I believe we can always get better)

 

Thinking Oh my god

Not this again

 

Keep on saying things out loud on accident

 

Surprised with their fervor.

 

(It is one of the best things about us, I think,

that there’s hope to always be better.)

 

Some days

 

I’ve forgotten

I’m whirling around

over

and

over

 

And then I trip

Fall off the wheel

See the sky, the moon.

 

See people talking

 

Someone complaining about her friend

Someone demanding “Did you treat her right?”

Someone curled around her phone on a staircase

People cheering on a plaza

Someone swaggering with a friend, loose, baggy black clothes, saying

“Homeboy—”

 

And I’ll say to myself,

Oh

that’s

what it was.

 

Sometimes

 

I forget

What tipping into that state feels like

 

Like standing very still at the bathroom window and

Finding that the city sparkles

 

Like seeing the moon reflecting the sunlight

Huge and forever away and larger than us all

 

Seeing that this isn’t about me, my own world

 

It’s about everyone’s own world,

 

About every single person

Who’s created a tiny

Gigantic

universe—

 

Who’s crafted these unfathomable universes

(with all of the care they could possibly muster)

Whose selves are poured into keeping them alive

 

and

 

Sometimes

I think

 

we are the stories we tell ourselves,

and we are the centers of our stories.

 

The creators of immense complexity and beauty

Who care

so,

so

much.

 

And those days,

biking home in whichever country,

 

seeing what we have done

the houses and streets and lights

the history and creation and strength

Every single story, written every single day

 

I think

 

Oh.

 

I remember.

 

 

 

 

ps, I don’t mean to worry people! Life’s excellent– it’s gotten busy, too, which is why my planned post about everything I’m up to has been a bit delayed :). This is just a post about random anxiety things, which I get every once in a while, but I think is interesting to talk and think about. Fingers crossed I’ll get to describe all of my projects I’m working on and all the cool things I’m learning this weekend, but it’ll probably be a Tuesday post with the way the deadlines are going :P. Thanks as always for reading!

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One thought on “Some days

  1. I miss you. Really, I do. John said I don’t have to worry about you filling up the freezer any longer, but it’s weird not to have you there.

    Like

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