Somewhere, in a far off universe, my dinner and I have met.
(We did. It was two eggs in a frame, not one-eyed egyptians which is what my grandfather whom I never met used to call them, plus diet snapple, plus, in a minute, probably some water and maybe an orange and some popcorn. I have a cookie, but it doesn’t sound great.)
Some time, in a location near you, I will have calmed down.
(I did. I got as busy as I could and I did what I could and I didn’t collapse in the face what I can’t have any say over at the moment. It wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t rooted in my terribleness. I am beginning to believe that I am not at all terrible. I’m really rather delightful, actually. But I don’t always do the best thing in any given situation and sometimes the circumstances placed upon me don’t allow for me to perform miracles. I have never yet seen a miracle – though I have seen wondrous and remarkable things – and I don’t need to live in wait for them, to suffer for the lack of them.)
Somehow, without time or space dependent on it, I will respond, reply, restore, react to some of the things being thrown my way.
(But not all of them. Some things go to the wayside because that’s where they were meant to go. The rest will get scooped up. They will be handled. But I don’t have to handle it all now, perfectly, fearlessly. The Faithful Light will point the way and I will stroll hand in hand with her. I refuse to go down the road of self-torment. There is nothing there for me, there is no one there for me, there is no place there for me. I refuse to wake up morning after morning feeling fried and panicked by failure and imperfection. Not when I am striving, not when I deserve generous thoughts and soft hands and cold water.)
The weathercasters all predict a blizzard tomorrow. Some say this is a big blizzard, some say this is one of those blizzards that doesn’t impact a hair on your head, some say life is risk and you live in a place of snow and ice. I am ready to work from home, ready to work at work. Ready to do my damndest. But tonight, my friends, is mine. I have worked on the piece I brought home to work on. I have celebrated Mystery Science Theatre 3000’s kickstarter success and its new host. I’ve read as much news as I could stomach, including opinion pieces that suggest xenophobia and isolation will somehow do anything beyond encourage those we recoil from to see us as enemies, as a faceless, soulless lump that doesn’t individuate, but acts only to preserve itself.
Now, there is no shame or guilt for reading, stretching, drinking, being my own private self for always. I have a warm nest. I love it here, quiet enough to hear the saints shuffle, quiet enough to hear the angels tap on the head of a pin.