Please Excuse My Time In Use

Please excuse my lack of calls. I think of you often and I miss you as well.
Please excuse my unanswered text. The response was lost but, not the words left
still ringing in my head as I cash out a guest with a wom-wom, “Thank you” I think left my lips that also left you to feel dismissed. I’m sorry. Please excuse my absence at the party. I wanted to be there but again, priorities. Not saying you’re not a priority. My life in double negatives, I begin to feel sorry. My practice in meditation diminished. Longing for a future that we give a cheeky kiss, sit down over coffee or tea or a beer and hopefully my mind won’t start wandering about things I haven’t held dear or who else is left I’ve shunned to sit down with over coffee. I’m sorry. Please excuse my self absorbed state where I cancelled our week-in-advanced date. I wanted breadsticks while we waited just absorbing. Please excuse the next week that comes. Or the next month, four packs of fresh breath gum I’ve been giving to strangers touring. Please excuse me of the mess. Of my house or of my dress. I turned the iron on but it went again unused just this morning. My hair was giving me a day and two little boys that need me most, well… I am first, their host and for that I’m not sorry.

The problem with me is my list of many things…to do and things dead before I’m dead to get ahead. Please excuse me while my time is taken. I’m sorry.

Saturday MornIng

I passed out at ten O’Clock last night. I woke up well rested in a gloomy living room so quiet I heard the furnace tick. 

I didn’t snooze an alarm. I didn’t run for a shower. I didn’t pack a diaper bag or a lunch.  I didnt rush to find someone’s homework (we still have to do). I didn’t change a landslide diaper that sometimes requires a bath while I’m putting on my eyelids. 

I didn’t forget the check for school pictures, the signed permission slip for field trip,the payment for daycare, the carseat for grandma, or a blanket for child…

I didn’t move.

I waited until I was able and not a second sooner, then made a pot of coffee (ten beautiful cups of it). I openned the curtains, loaded the dishwasher, poured a cup of Brita-Joe and added 5lbs of mocha creamer just because it made me happy. 

I sat down at the table, read some articles and listened for the thuds above me (first a jolt, then a leg out of bed, and then two feet pounding across the ceiling). I hear my three year old slam porcelain against porcelain and I laugh at the next 18 years of my life. I hear a baby cry and a dad get out of bed. 

I just sit here waiting like Santa’s bringing me presents on Christmas. I have a Saturday morning.

The Sense in Being Senseless: My Weapon for Depression

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I am in control of the life I lead, the body I reside in, the mind I put to sleep when the day has burned away its use.  “When the moon wakes up, the sun will go to bed.” I tell my son all-knowing, “and then the opposite is just as true. So life should make sense to you at 2.” 

If only life were so simple. If only I carried control like a remote of direction – I’d click through my guide of televised episodes concluding day’s ends – moral lessons by the channel.

But life is not so simple like the moon and sun appear to tell.  My dear children, I  won’t be able to explain it all and that’s the honesty I promise to always give you.  I promise to break your hearts when necessary, because it is my motherly and decent duty to never bend lies beautifully, so that you will grow up well. 

Life will sometimes hurt and control will slip your grip and mudslides of mistakes can ensue if you allow them to when the rain does not stop pouring.   You are not the makers of weather. Do not fight the storms as if you will turn them dry. Enjoy the sights of light striking fear into your hearts because, while such bolts of flash deem terrifying,  they’re real and will remind you of the many different ways possible to feel.  Be thankful you’re alive and please, do not dwell.  The storm will pass.

I am just having  one of those weeks and the rain is paying some visitation .  I watch the clouds roll in and listen for the growls of angry sky to arrive all while sitting on a swing beneath the blender.  Sunshine dimmed by white skies and in the distance,  black.  I sit beneath it all so that I can see, today I am outside myself.  Today, I am out of my control.  There is no sense today.  And that’s okay.

Queen City Kait