what’s up buttercup

an entire month (and three whole days) of the new year is behind us. they’ve come and gone, and some of them have even been lived.

my goal for this year was to live, truly live: to make every breath count, every smile real, every word well-spoken and every laugh easy. but when i look back on the small marker of “one month down,” i don’t see a lot of that.

perhaps i simply suffer from memory loss–perhaps the good times are buried deep in untriggered synapses of my very pregnant brain. things have happened of course: big things and little things. off the top of my head, the ones that stand out are:

  1. primland
  2. south carolina
  3. leaving bacteria
  4. turning down summit
  5. Ph.D.ing
  6. A’s stuff (there is so much of it; i wish him the whole wide world and a king’s bounty)
  7. growing bean

but the days don’t seem to be defined by the things, by the dids or by the didn’ts. they seem to flow to a melody in a minor key: a haunting dirge, no variation on a theme. i’ve done little living and lots of wishing; these wishes, unfulfilled, leave me empty and tired. they are not concrete; they dissolve at a hint of practicality, they scatter at the smallest attempt to speak of them.

what are these wispy imaginings? they are full of texas or vermont or kyoto, marked by the absence of monetary woes, weaving days that stretch because they are so full of love and understanding and sweet peace. they are isolated except for those few souls who make my throat tight with emotion. evenings are easy and silence is comfortable. things don’t need to be said. voices are beautiful. there’s enough room for the important things in life to be important. full freedom. plenty of room to breathe.

the strange thing is, the less real these wishes seem, the less real I feel. what’s wrong with me? why can’t i just live?


it’s time for this girl to become a momma, and to stop asking questions that have no answers.




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