Almost everyone I know is breaking down. That seems like the normal response. Yesterday was my day.
After a full week of internet and Zoom immersion, worlds are starting to blend.
"You're glitching," I tell Noah as we stand together in the kitchen late last night. His face appears to be smudging and it seems his words are caught, snagged on the leg of the couch in the living room, and I'm waiting for him to fully download.
Outside, I'm attuned to the dissonance, the grinding fragmented metal that so closely emulates the frightening sounds I never knew technology could make. When Jude clears his throat, or when Lola scratches her post, I anticipate a total shutdown, a pause in life's forward momentum, as I watch the lifeless wheel turn and turn and turn to no end, a courier of despair.
I don't like this. I don't like that this is now my personal work, my practice to show up for. And this is why yesterday was such a hard day.
It made me a careless mother, the worst sort of mother. You don't want to know. It brought up my self-loathing, all the handed down feelings I could never hold growing up as a child. Once again, I am confined to a position of having to love and depend on something that cannot love me back.
My mom was glitchy. I love her freely now. You know this. But all those laggy feelings are coming back.
Today is better. I'm taking a technology break, mostly. And I'm syncing up with all the joy i can in the moment. You want to know something?
Yesterday, after being with Noah for almost eight years, I heard him say his Facebook password aloud to Jude so he could hook us up for our Zumba class. I won't tell you what it was, but it was akin to "it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood."
"It's good to have happy reminders as much as I can", he when I jump for joy, "a good way to talk to myself."
My love for him infinitized.
I am taking refuge in the vitalality of these micro moments, so renewing....and remembering that sometimes the unexpected, the unprecedented, is quite, quite wonderful.
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