Reader's Notes

June 12, 2022

And I come home on a Sunday, like every year. Time has been taking its time with healing, but I am patient enough to wait. 

These things take time, enough for me to know and remember by now. I thought they'd come with me. I thought I'd carry more friends down this way with me. I had high, uninhibited, hopes that I carried with me without a second thought. I'm learning about informed optimism, a step up from naiveté. My progress is slow, but gentle, and I take it at a fitting pace. I have a tendency to try not to cry, I'm working on figuring out why and whether or not its worth my time. 

To capture the feeling—or the whole batch of them—is the goal, so that every day is easy, not without, but despite difficulty. I put my head on many shoulders within the confines of my thoughts and am finding, slowly, the right place and time for certain energies, even if I can't calm or control them yet. Maybe I need to sway like a Japanese building or flow like clean water, instead of digging stormwater ditches. The idea is not to live so polished that you have a perfect shine, but to jump in the puddles and still smile while washing off the mud. That's what I think anyway. Bake a frozen pizza and still find yourself thinking, "yum, that hit the spot." 

Slow and steady.

Worried but ready. 

Looking in the mirror and thinking, "I'm ready to make mistakes." 

"Ready to accidentally do something stupid." 

Step out of the shower and feel ready to sing outside for the first time in your life as if you're still soaking in the automated rain. Be ready to go through the steps like building secondhand Ikea furniture: one piece at a time with just the idea of instructions, for the final product of something mostly good as new. 

As time shifts, it brings all sorts of things with it. In the days gone by recently, I find myself thinking of all the things that would've been in the time since we were last together; barbecues and dinners, conversations and game progress, are things all lost to "could have been"s. I could have shown you so many songs by now. We could have cried about how things turned out, together, and then we could've gone for ice cream or good Egg Benedicts at the café on Dunlop. I know a guy who could get us the employee discount.

Everything's only healthy for so long. 

Coming back from that is returning to life from sweet imaginings and making sure the work gets done. 

Later, we will worry about not letting bugs in when we open the door and clearing the dead June Bugs from wherever they lie.

Eventually, it'll feel a little hot out all the time and it will be light by now—this time of night that's so late they call it morning. Around then, I'll feel bad about my sleep schedule because I'm seeing the sunrise before bed, but importantly, I still see the morning. 

It's dark and quiet then. The dawn chorus starts before light breaks. For now I'm up at what feels like an alright time; for now it's just a little too cold at night.

On the way out, pet the dog for me. I miss her.