Rick says I must move my body around the bar. He suggests I press my feet into the ground, stay over the weight, dictate the path. I’m learning, and I’m glad. It feels right.
After Rick’s class, the rush began. First the forms I hadn’t completed on Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday; then, the email in which I would forgo what was right to do for what I wished to do. I did not send the missive, but I brooded. Even sleep stressed: it was another obligation I had to fulfill. The hurry went on to the morning where time continued its evasion; I left the house late with dishes still grimed and trashcan unlined.
The orientation went well, but through it I fell back into worry. How will I manage a full-time job and a part-time job? How can I go from work to work and back to work with no sleep in between possibly two times a week? Indeed these worries are fruitless. (They bear to apples or pears or persimmons.) I will handle it when it comes, if indeed it ever does.
And so I drove home, as always in a rush (the speed is exhilarating, and I default to risking all to make my time in the car briefer.) There, on the sidewalk, Aby and Boomer. My sick sweet little pup: my heart aches for her. We walked inside together and there in a brown paper bag were flowers.
Flowers from my love, they slow down time. I can breathe again.