I don’t have a pen and paper. I wanted to wait until I did, but then that’s time I could use for something, someone else. Time at times is a commodity, a precious shell fragile and porcelain that I must coddle and value. I am writing now on a laptop, my fingers moving consistently without a moment to breathe. Well, maybe one. Or few. Short shallow sips, that give a thought or an idea the ability to birth. So that I can capture it under the clarity of a cup, to watch it wiggle and jiggle. Not like the grasshoppers I put in my bug bin capsule thing when I was younger and left in the sun so that they all died. No. I want this to live, to keep breathing, and to get the amount of water and shade it needs to be comfortable. So I’ll write now. I’ll write now about the book I’m starting that I usually never finish. A Tom Robbins book filled with adjectives and trampolining off from sentence to sentence in a dreamlike way that I sit back in awe and wonder how far space goes. Forever, you say. I can’t. It’s awe. All of it. So I keep going. Writing. I think I have five more minutes. I am working on being kind even though I have strong principles. This is a newer juggling act I’m doing, the old ball of just principles blocked out the sun like the eclipse I witnessed on a bench in Prineville Oregon with a welding mask on that I secretly discarded, so I could be with it. Just me and it. Blinded? You don’t scare me. No way. I’ve been staring at the sun since I was little, peeling my eyelids back and torturing myself until they water and blink forcefully away. Was it torture? I kind of enjoyed it. And I see fine. Still 20/20 I think. There are days I feel like I’m straining a bit, but nothing concerning. Back to principles. I apologized to the landlord I rent space from. Just saying I wished I’d been more kind and understanding in how I went about negotiating the rent. My principles can be a gnarly vine of thorns, and I will plow you over. And I did. And I didn’t care. Because I was right. Which no one can doubt. I got what I wanted. But the taste it left in my mouth, the bittery, Mr. Yuck sticker taste, was not the afterglow for which I was looking. But I can revisit, reflect, and that I have. I am not aplogizing for my principles because they are truly a beauty to behold….Phone call, gotta go.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 