Sunday, February 4, 2018.
Every Sunday has a sort of ritual about it:
Wake. Check phone. Waterwaterwater. Stretch. Bathroom. Make coffee. Get a bagel. Put on light music. Sort and start laundry. AM writing. Then and only then is there room for the rest of life.
On this particular Sunday, I rose and opened my blinds to see lightly fallen snow and not a soul around. On a college campus, 8:30AM on a weekend morning means nobody is up yet. I’ve always been an early bird so this doesn’t make quite as much sense to me; so much more can get done throughout the day when you rise early.
Still, here I am. Bagel in the toaster, coffee brewing, and fingers on the keys. I even lit a candle because why not?
My overall headspace is in a good place, although I went to bed really late and I usually never do that. It was for good reason. Talking with M, although only via text, makes it worth it. Sleep has been the one thing I’ve lacked since 2018 started. My body wakes me early out of habit, I suppose, so when I go to bed really late, I’m really doing this out of my own volition. Aside from that, I’d say I’m contemplative and quiet, but all is well. My natural tendency is to be reserved; most rooms I enter, I don’t look to be in the center. I like to observe the human experience of others and find myself a little bit in their stories. My job sometimes requires me to be a bit energetic, which ends up draining me a but more. I wouldn’t trade it for anything else though.
A text back to M, a smile, and onward.
*yawn* homework and writing this morning. So it goes.
10:30AM.
Often the editing process of any essay or poem I write includes me reading it out loud to see how easily the tongue can handle the breath. It’s how the kinks get worked out, how the sentences that don’t fit right get ironed in a way. The last 20 minutes was spent reading some drafts out loud. There’s much to work on. Much to do. Much that has yet to be written.
11:00AM.
Third cup of coffee and the thought that Sunday will come to a close much quicker than what I’d like. I paid all of my bills today which has left me feeling depleted in a way. I’m grateful to have bills that I have to pay because it means I’m working for something. It means I have things that I have to keep up, things to maintain, and many others don’t have the things that I have. I work hard for my money and I recognize the privilege that brings with it. Still, I can’t help but look at my bank account become immediately halved in one day and feel a sort of loss that each month brings with it.
Laundry to fold. Paper to write. On again.
11:45AM.
A blank page stares at me as I try to decide between two research proposal ideas. I resolve to lay on my couch and rest my eyes. Music in the background. I don’t fall asleep, not completely. Five minutes must have passed and here I am. Up again. Feeling nostalgic with the song playing. Not motivated to generate a direction to go, a step to take, with this proposal. I close my computer and situate my paper in a way that feels conducive to my mind. A horizontal line here, a vertical line here, another horizontal line, some boxes shaded in (I use graph paper most days), a head here, some scribbles and dots, okay okay, finally ready to go. Nothing.
1:00PM.
Haven’t eaten; not hungry. A few texts back and forth with M. I smile. Fold more laundry. Listen to a couple of songs on repeat. You ever find the right song on the right day to make you feel the right way? The way, perhaps, you’re supposed to feel about something but maybe haven’t let yourself feel? Happens all the time to me. Words that an artist has poured into and given life to. I suppose that’s what attracts me to poetry anyways. Most of everything in the world is poetic if we look at it in the right light; music is no different. I am never immune to noticing the way someone smiles, the way humanity shrinks and expands daily, or the way we get to exist at the same time. It’s poetry.
1:30PM.
Met with J to talk about our schedules this week. We likely won’t see each other much. No one-on-one. Maybe sometime at the end of the week? Lunch or dinner or something? There’s potential. We won’t know until we get there. He asks me if there will be time to talk about work-related things. I can tell something is weighing on him but he’s not ready to talk about it. I ask him how his weekend was, shifting the conversation into a different sphere; he knows when I do this and what it’s meant to do. He looks at me with eyes that say “I’m not ready.” I back away. Create a space for silence. For contemplation. We both get up at the same time to leave. Staff retreat soon; going to spend some quality time with co-workers. I think about this moment for a second and wonder how many times he’s come into my office to show me the heaviness and how many times I may not have created a space for him. I vow to myself to be better.
4:50PM.
My body aches slightly. I’m reminded of how out-of-shape I am when I play any sports. Sure, I train three times a week, but not constant running. Not constant deep breathing. Had a good time though, and took many pictures to prove it. I’m reminded of why I love the people I work with and how lucky I am to be able to spend a Sunday afternoon with people that I’ve come to care deeply about. Food must be in my future, I tell myself. I might be able to fit it between a shower and getting ready to leave again for superbowl plans. I’m reminded of the snow once I walk outside; how dreary it feels, and how much I really don’t like being cold. The quicker I get to where I’m going, the shorter amount of time I’ll spend outside.
5:30PM.
Showered. Thirsty. Waterwaterwater. Stretch. Sit for a second and transfer all the photos from the camera to the laptop. Everything is slow. This computer is ancient; I’m surprised any time that it can keep up. Gratitude in those moments. This is not one of those moments. I feel impatient and behind. Haven’t thought about the research proposal and I know it’ll get me into trouble if I wait until the last minute. I resolve to work on it tomorrow. Spoken like a true procrastinator. Text from MK about the roads being slick. I tell him to take his time, I’m in no rush. I’d rather be alive and late than to not make it there at all. He arrives safely and I get into his car, squeezing his shoulder to welcome him home from time spent away with family. He’s urgent but not hurrying. He quickly falls into the stories from this weekend and I listen as I always do, even if he’s already told the story a couple of times through. This is what I know to be true: MK loves his family but doesn’t always want to spend time with them. It’s not a freeing experience from him. We talk briefly about dating and love. The way we weave into conversations makes me smile. I know he’s a forever friend and that’s exactly what I’m looking for these days. We make it a point to tell each other I Love You every day. Never fails. He never fails, even when he does. I do, too, but I’m still here showing up. We make it to where we’re going.
11:30PM.
Much has happened since the last time I wrote. The Eagles won the superbowl. Justin Timberlake got mixed reviews on Twitter for his halftime show. I ate so much buffalo chicken dip, I could burst. So good. And good company. There’s something about small groups that give me life. The intimacy of simply existing in a space with specific people who either get you or are trying to get you, see you or are trying to see you. I could spend the majority of my time in either one-on-one settings or small groups. Reminds me of my family, how small we are. How dysfunctional but so damn loving we can be in the thick of life together. These last few years have reminded me of how important it is to hold them close to me. Nobody knows when they won’t wake up, won’t be here, will not longer be able to stay. When my grandmother passed last April, I felt that deeply. The last time I saw her. The last time I kissed her and held her hand. The last time she cried because I had to drive back to school, back to Muncie, away from her. I think of her often, especially on days like today, when I can feel her with me. Days like today when she’s lining my steps, a lighthouse somewhere in the distance, the north of my compass needlepoint. Missing her is what I’ve known for so long. Each day when I look down at my right forearm, I’m reminded to love people deeply. To give them everything I’ve got. And there’s just something beautiful about that, the coming and the going of people, but what always remains. Love.
12:15AM.
Plan finalized with M for tomorrow night. Big breath in. I close my eyes. Exhale. And I drift off into sleep, another week down and another ahead. Sleep.