Little Pieces Make a Life

This morning, a friend came by unannounced to do what she called “a welfare check” because we’d failed to connect by phone or text tag this week. We speak or see each other every week by routine, but this week got muddled. There was just too much mental/emotional chaos to make room for the better routines of life.

I find that’s often the case lately. Too much static. I woke at four this morning and my brain turned to space planning. Never mind why. Trust me it was a waste of precious time to try to get back to sleep. I succeeded about an hour and a half later, but woke up with a headache, and an early morning appointment to attend with my husband. Luckily, it was in our apartment, so little prep was required other than a quick change of clothes, and basic morning hygiene.

My husband left for work with our autistic son, who has no planned activities on Friday.  I left a bit later with my friend.  We walked east so I could pick up a book my sister had left for me, for our next book club meeting.  She promised that I wouldn’t be able to put it down when she saw my shock at how big it was.

Walked my friend back toward her place after a brief stop for a cold drink.  She had lunch plans with a childhood friend, whom she reconnected with at the funeral of a fellow childhood classmate who passed away unexpectedly about a year ago.

I thought to stop at Whole Foods to get some fish for dinner, but decided to head straight home instead.  Where of course I found that somehow, one of our dogs had managed to pee in what was a nonexistent space between two overlapping wee-wee pads when I put them down this morning.  I’m so used to cleaning up after our dogs that this stuff barely registers any longer.

Why ramble on about all these insignificant things?  I guess because the big things are beyond my reach.  They’re also becoming increasingly beyond my interest.  I once wrote a piece about retreating to my Mitzrayim, my narrow place, and feel more and more settled there.  Not in a good way, necessarily, but just where I find myself.  I am trying harder and harder–which seems silly to say–to lean into what feels most natural to me.  And that is a kind of stasis built on a foundation of acquiescence and fatigue.  It’s neither terribly interesting nor terribly alarming.

I look around and realize that there are things I probably can and should do.  But I honestly don’t much want to.  Nothing is that appealing.  Nor, however, is it repulsive or aversive.  It’s just not much of anything at all.

My husband asked if I wanted to go to Shabbat services if he gets home in time, which he’s not sure he will.  I don’t really want to.  Nothing is especially appealing about the shlep to get there, or the feeling of being among strangers.  It’s just another thing on the neither/nor list.  I suppose I’ll have to muster some enthusiasm when we visit our daughter for Rosh Ha Shanah, and I’m sure I will.  I’ve become quite good in this life at pretending.

The dogs are asleep and the beds need to be made.  Laundry put away, and perhaps another cup of coffee made.  And at some point, it will be an acceptable time to have a little wine, perhaps by myself, perhaps when my husband gets home.  I’ll think about not being out of the city this weekend, and hope our trip to the beach on Sunday to see college friends of my husband will be worth missing out on that.

I haven’t spent a weekend in the city in a while, and I realize I don’t miss being here.  At all.  Which makes being here now a bit challenging.  But really just another slight hurdle to get up, over, or around.  Which often feels like what a lot of life is.  Lately…