The problem with planning is that I never know what a day is going to bring. One day I’ll feel great and make plans and the next, I’m tossed back because I stayed too long at dinner with friends. I had a good time. I laughed and was the designated driver who didn’t drive home too slowly. I ate well, drank a half a beer, and even listened. My whole life, I was never very good at listening. I’m plracticing.
And today, I don’t feel up to it, to anything. My head hurts. My feet and hands thrum and shake whenever I try to reach for something. I drop things. My chest hurts and my oxygen is on the low side. It helps to hum with each breath, but I don’t have the wherewithal to make it pretty. Lights sparkle behind closed eyes, colors and patterns are a mandala of pain. I sit here, breathe in and out slowly the way they’ve taught me, metta meditation. I concentrate on the people I love who are grieving. There’s so much grief in the world. Later, I close my eyes while the TV is on something I care less about then let my mind drift to dreams I had of being halfway up the stairs when the carpet peeled back, and I had to cling to it as it snapped its tacks. I’m left clinging to a crumbling rail. That beautiful house, coming apart bit by bit.
I dream in metaphors.
Thank you for listening, jules