That’s the thing about tragedy: the only way out is through. Get through a night, then a day, maybe even a conversation. And all those out of place things–commercials and dishes and alarm clocks mistakenly set for PM instead of AM–are still there. Hand soap and iridescent bubbles and the smell on your skin ten minutes later–it’s all still there. The sound of Windex being sprayed on a glass kitchen table. I notice and connect with the smaller things at times like these. I hear myself saying, “Zoom, zoom, car. That’s right,” after counting plastic automobiles, and showing Lucas where to park them. I joke. I say no to adults and yes to my children. I ignore voicemails and emails, however kind. It is personal. Mostly because, personally, I just don’t feel like speaking. I’d rather listen to the sound of Mr. Bikini’s feet, little cleats marching across the wooden planks of our home.
I don’t care if the television is on, as long as I have a notebook or laptop on hand. I play word challenge on Facebook (come join me), zoning out. Mindless moments. I’ve heard before that inspiration comes during mindless moments, where we’re simply washing dishes or our hair, driving in the rain, stringing beads. And I thought, “Who the hell strings beads?”
It’s not that I wish I had more quiet in my days, full of small taps and clicks. I still love the voices of our home, the stories, movies, arguments, and sarcasm. But I need to make an effort to turn things off, to live in silent moments, alone. Not when LOST is on, but in general.
I am sorry. I apologize for all the calls I haven’t returned, for the emails opened but without replies. My world is too full right now to focus on things and people that matter. Instead, I play word challenge and wait for inspiration. It’s how I carry on.