In my head is a constant conversation with one voice saying “Well, since Art IS better and you do have all this TIME now, you really must finish those thank you notes, return the pants you bought for Pallas at Christmas and get the car cleaned. Oh and shouldn’t you be returning to work and writing again soon? I mean you don’t want them (ah, the ubiquitous them) to think you are ------ (I never can find a word to fit in there).
The other voice is new. It’s firm but reasonable. It understands my need to “do” but tempers it with my body’s and mind’s need to rest. It says things like “Wow, you read the paper, did the diabolical soduku, washed the towels and napped. Now that was a good day!” Sometimes it will play a gentle school marm: “I know you want to get to the store to find a gift for Ezra’s friend this weekend, but WHY the hell are you rushing Ezra around the block? Go on pick up the dandelion and blow. Buy the gift later.” It’s a nice voice and I really like it. It’s just that I don’t quite trust it.
I fear that the big finger wagging “them” (which in all honesty is me, my hard-driving-unforgiving-make-no-mistakes self) will not look kindly on my lazy ways. I am afraid that if I don’t do, then I will be lost. It will remind me of how I felt after Langston was born. How small and powerless I felt and how useless.
And then today, the new voice says, “Kim?” I listen. I can tell a great piece of wisdom is coming my way. “Art has been feeling better for 8 days. 8 days. Give yourself a break.” I smirk, feel a bit silly and return to the kitchen table where today’s Soduku and a cup of tea await.
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