Humanity

Friday Freewrite. first.

I remember was the prompt. Put it first.

1/23/19

 

I remember the stone wall out my window, the purple of the metal decoration flashes itself daily amidst the grey greens of the winter wall.  

I remember the first child being born, though not the moment i first saw him, the relief, the relief that he had come out and the end was nigh. And then it wasn’t… but that moment. I remember . he’s out! And i’m alive and he’s alive and we are a love.

I remember the way i felt this week, crying by the unfixable sofa and wanting to rage and break things.  

I remember my feeling of inability, not enoughness, i remember being mad at all the people that i don’t even know, that aren’t here, the potentials that aren’t materializing. The block i must have on moving through to intimacy, or a desire for intimacy. . .

I remember intimacy, and how it takes so much longer than i think .  i remember less doubt, somehow, I remember what it is like to tuck my head into someone’s chest, and rest there. And feel warmth there.

I remember that the practice of accepting them helps me accept myself.

And i remember when i was better at that.

I remember the birth of the second and the speed and novelty and relief and flood of him. I remember the irritation at the men for chatting while i was laboring.  Paha, now. But still, i remember. I remember my sister struggling so with watching my labor.

I remember myself in the window of my marriage, looking out at the cars passing by, wishful. Thats how i remember myself.  Slowly drooping.

I remember the birth of my last. Hopeful for the home birth. So tired. Riding along to the hospital. So quick, with a little relaxation, to resolve. To spin, to arrive.

I remember.  

I remember to snack in the middle of free writes, the green bowl beside me a testament to my powers of distraction.  

I remember that i have a date tonight. I remember the feeling of futility and utility … the need to keep in practice.

I remember this is why i am here. A life of practice. Practice that becomes the substance.

I remember liking what i write.

I remember stopping when i feel like it.

0118192019

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