Brainshambles

The clock tells me it’s 7:56PM. Babies are sleeping, dishes are washed, somehow [again, like magic] I’ve pulled off a miracle whirlwind of feeding, bathing, cleaning and coddling. All in only an hour and a half. Time and I have always maintained a strange relationship. Obsessed. Beat the clock. Beat the clock. Beat yourself. Set new limits. Beat those. Then what? Oh, the appeal of turmoil. So cliche. It is so cliche to feel…so cliche? Everything becomes circular if you never allow yourself to break free of the safety net that we call comfort. Pushing gets easier with time. But risks also multiply, and limits which were once viewed from a safe distance tend to creep up awfully quickly.

Time doesn’t come to life until you take the battery out of the clock.

Another night, forcing bites of a peanut butter and bread through tired lips. I wonder if anyone might think it peculiar, that I eat peanut butter on wheat for dinner at least 3 times per week? I rarely scrimp on details in my day-to-day routine. That is, until it’s 8:00PM and I realize I haven’t had time to eat. In a complex world, the simplicity of a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of clear tepid water becomes so appealing. Such a treat. No thinking involved. Bread. Knife. Jar. Glass. Done.

Forcing substance into a nutrient thirsty body and soul.