upon having to apply for disability I owe me yet another one – another, I’m sorry I did that to me, another, please forgive my insensitivity, my inability to protect us from the unexpected week’s end, blasting the same old lie, that we were never good enough to survive in the ‘real world,’ the ‘working world,’ the world of nine to five or more, where people are very much a commodity, and we hold so very little value. You see, me, I forgot myself again, forgot where we were just yesterday, driving, laughing so hard our poor cheeks were sore, exploring where else we might live besides this cacophony of bulldozers and steam, and I know returning to it, to the phone calls and paperwork, admitting we cannot work traditionally, earn a steady paycheck, returning to this place where even the walls of our sacred home shake in the wind – I want you to know, I get it, why those unmasked tasks spitting in the face of what we had planned for our family, the torn-up road back to ‘reality’ (as if the world we have built us were not already a better reality) I do understand our stratosphere is still somewhat unstable, that we cannot yet rely on the air we concocted, hold our breath long enough to go back into those caverns and tunnels overly mined, where everything is a possible soft spot, and we never know when we might sink, fall suddenly into darkness, that sometimes, we both believe we are strong enough to endure it this time, that this time, some word or image or memory might not affect us both in ways we do not want to imagine – though we have been to those shafts before, deep under earth, again and again in the past month or so, each time assuming our own ozone would hold. And I want me to know I will try to remind me next time to observe where we are, where we have recently been, that transitions are still hard for us, and accepting our own limitations even harder. Together, we will plot a little better before reentering, reexamining, rethinking, responding. And I will tell me gently that not everything requires immediate ‘get it done’ anymore, that we are not beholden to it, that we are free to walk barefoot in thriving wildflowers we ourselves have planted, can curl their stems between our toes, skim hands across the tops, close our so very tired eyes whenever we wish, listen to spring peepers and cardinal calls, and tell us what they say. Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright March 30, 2024, all rights reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse
