No matter how hard I (consciously or subconsciously) try, I am unable to compartmentalize my life into colorfully, albeit neatly sealed Tupperware containers.
I burp and I reseal, burp and reseal – to no avail.
Home seeps into work seeps into writing seeps into relationships seeps into reality seeps into dreams seeps into logic seeps into chaos seeps into me.
All of our lives are so full.
The comparison game can be dangerous if played without reinforced buttresses surrounding all sides of an already impenetrable fortress. I’d recommend a variety – flying, ordinary, clamped and French. The evolution of the Trojan Horse means the enemy has a greater chance of success when sneaking behind clearly drawn boundaries and neutral zones.
The most precarious presupposition one can take, however, is to build these cellular citadels with such obsessive precision so as to treat friendly forces with the same unbreakable strategy.
Where is the line? What is the perfect condition for an ally? How can one ever be sure it is a true alliance and not an alien invasion whose only intent is to take over the host body in order to propagate an entirely new mutated generation of automatonic clones?
we are all distinct
formed wholly united once
storms only wash clean
looking for inspiration
amid spring cold blocks
attempts to supplant
met with sly opposition
sun sets in a trance
taken awaiting results
moon offers small crumb
tiny broken parts of myself
filter through chameleon blender
generating giant wedges
of splintered humanity
in time with tightly
edges ruffled stiff from worry
enhanced by conspicuous clamor
manifesting savage villains
in twisted exhibition
of gut kept hushed in
eyelids flutter closed to protect
fortress from infiltration brigade
devastating native flora
and cornered protozoa
in case one misses
errant noises fill space around
safety zone supplementing risky
antithesis hidden inside
more formal mechanisms
among all who come
together at once
apart bonded with shared love
warm breeze carries us
I want to write.
I want to weep.
I want to turn the clock back eleven and a half years and hold my chunky baby who needed me for everything.
I want to fast forward in time, making stops at 16, 18, 21, 25 and 30 to make sure my handsome young son is healthy, happy and safe.
I want to be his constant shadow protecting him from harm, fending off bullies and off-putting-gold-diggers, helping him over obstacles I could never scale at any age and watching every cell in his body grow as the amazing human he is.
And yet …
I hold my breath, wring my hands and watch him ride his bike off to school alone knowing that he’ll be making the trek back to an empty house with nothing more than a key and a promise to call me at work when he arrives safely.
Which he did.
And we both grew up a little more today.
I will be going off the grid for approximately 2 1/2 days which is equivalent to about 60 hours straight, at the beginning of May. I am going with my son’s fifth grade class on the annual 3-day camping trip without access to cell service or internet connections.
I was oddly elated at the news. The only thing that has me bummed about it is that I will not be able to call home and talk to my daughter. Even when our kids stay overnight with my folks or my mother-in-law, I make sure to speak to them every day or night. This will be the first time in ten years my daughter and I have not heard each others voices, especially right before bedtime. 😦
Other than that, I am excited to be in nature with my son, will stay in denial about how insane/stinky/claustrophobic it might get with 89 5th graders from our school alone, will suck it up to spend time with parents I wouldn’t normally chose to hang-with, and look forward to meeting the numerous parents I am not acquainted with yet.
It’s not true roughing it as we will be in cabins with bunk beds and air conditioning, catered meals and access to a swimming pool, however, we will learn about limnology, orienteering, forces of nature, terrestrial ecology, and so much more! (Of course, I wasn’t sure what they were talking about on a few of these, but I’m going to do some pre-studying so I can make sure to be smarter than a fifth grader…)
Maybe I’ll even write my post out with something called a “pen” and “paper” although I hear the delete key doesn’t work quite the same as what I am accustomed to using.