Highly sensitive lists.
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she has a fever.
i get up after she finally falls to sleep, hours of waking, 'mama my stomach hurts,' and i can't make it stop.
i clear off the tiny kitchen table that has been covered in stuff for weeks.
the coffee smells like everything. memories, joy, longings, pleasure.
where are the kids thursday, what do i leave for dinner.
without my mother, Patrick, best friends, this travel wouldn't be possible. deep gratitude for the village.
packing list. i can't forget my favorite shirts. how many boots can i cram inside the tiny red case.
little sleep the days before travel.
my mind revolves, i see the prescription for xanax that i think about filling every time before i fly. and never have.
i am about to land in a state that held my life for almost 4 years. i have changed so much.
the young girl who left 14 years ago returns as a woman.
i have curves now. babies. desires filled and filling.
tattoos now grace my skin and the long hair that was cut off there is now returning. and i adore it.
both boys sleeping on the couch as i sip the coffee and sit in the tiny kitchen. i love this kitchen.
when i asked him to leave that home that was once ours he agreed. but i know the decision hurt him. he loved it there. i was so lost.
i feel peace at the east's oceans. never as settled as i am when my feet are buried in her sand.
i feel healing at the west's oceans. my adventure, longings, excitement on her shores.
the whole house sleeps. dog snores.
i make the lists. target. art supplies. i want to go out for breakfast.
the yellow pages pull my anxieties and delights together.
let it rain on your soul. my vision board holds these words.
birds are singing. coffee cold.
he is stirring.
my stomach rumbles. i am grateful. the lists pull my wandering mind back in.
for one moment i relax. and think about what i will have for breakfast.
