After a major life event, it's always a bit of a shock to watch the world move along unaware of you. Life often bears no witness to our little happenings. Even our bodies ignore our need for a pause button or some recognition that we have been tested in our humanity. That we need a break from reality. Particularly from duty.
The sun rises. The cats meow. I feed the cats. I make coffee. I pack Aria's lunch. I get her dropped by a friends so she can be brought to school on time. I commute to work, trying desperately to find a great song on the radio but mostly just singing along to any one I find that I know, flipping stations occasionally to find something better.
Work. (This needed its own paragraph. I spend a long time there.)
Home. Make dinner. Help with homework. Pop Aria in the shower. Read her stories. Massage her back. Haul both the garbage and recycling bins to the curb (a monster victory).
Witness a glorious sunset between the houses across the street. Contemplate buying their homes just to tear them down and get a better sunset view. Scratch that and dream of a beach home while navigating the bins down the drive.
The sun sets. The cats meow.
Duty is relentless. The mundane can be the best medicine for a fragile day. It affords us the simplicity of auto pilot. After an emergency lights only day, auto pilot is deliciously mundane.
Talking Heads - Once in a Lifetime
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