the first thing i said today that wasn't in my head, except probably good morning to the cats, was
the light outside is blue, somehow.
the last thing i remember thinking last night as i fell asleep was that i wish james would come back up the hall so i could tell him my great idea: we could sell the house and maybe that would make enough money to pay all our debts and then we'd only need enough money to live on. we could get a little house somewhere smaller, and work just enough to get by. i saw myself puttering outside a tiny house on the taos mesa.
the first person i spoke to out loud today was the driver of the school bus that i had learned was passing me when i found my mouth open, screaming. at the next light i paused by his door, which he opened. i let him know that he'd been six inches from my handlebars. there was no anger in my voice, no blame, because i wasn't feeling any. i thought a schoolbus must be a very hard thing to drive and surely no one would kill someone else with one on purpose, even on a rainy morning in february, and i thought it would be good to let him know that's what six inches from the bike looks like. i said it in a very friendly and informative way, but then he was yelling at me. i rode away thinking yes, i need to move away. i need to get out of the city. i've got to get out of here.
i don’t think i want to do that. it’s just the way the mind loops when the blood gets close. the sky is heavy today with grey clouds, then the sun is shining. the wind is rustling up the redwood, then leaving her still. everything is too heavy, then too light.
during work i am not for me. i am of service, i am for whoever i am serving. my feelings go someplace else, and i become a channel for what the person seems to need. this is a skill i worked many years to cultivate, and i am grateful for it. there were three classes this morning.
and then there was me, miserable. knowing there was no cause in the external world, knowing i've eaten and slept fairly well, and this is just that the blood is coming. watching the mood and surfing it. watching the mind loop and burn.
i gave myself permission to take a nap. instead i took to bed with the book i stopped reading when i got to the point where the hero was just about to die. i was weeping before i even got to the bedroom, big fat hot wet tears. when dream died, i was already done weeping.
i wasn't tired, so i took me off to try the warm waters next. a good warm bath. oh. oh. a good warm bath and the skin scrubbed with vanilla and salt and oil.
i rose soft and clean, and put the kettle on. when it whistled i poured it over mint leaves, a pinch of bancha, and a pinch of lavender. i am drinking this from the green cup my grandmother gave to me.
when my beloved came home and asked me tenderly how i was, i was cold, then brittle, then hot. i watched it all come out wrong, to my beloved of all people who is the rest of the thing that i am that we are, who was sweet and to whom i only intended to be sweet in return.
and then i went to my room, alone, because i can see that is best.
the light outside, now, she is green.