Sleeping alone in a bed is such a normal thing. That’s what I tell myself every night as I pull on my striped boxer shorts and that oversized t-shirt from a defunct LA band. Scooping my eight pound dog onto the comforter—she can hop up but refuses to—I nod, yes sleeping alone is easy and I do it all the time. Boyfriend is out of town, he’s working in a desert so vast, they had to bring in Wi-Fi and tents and toilets. He’s been there over a month and we have another month left. In his absence, I’ve started having vivid dreams. Usually one a night. I don’t know if it’s the solitude or the new sleep gummies, but there’s a surprising amount of sunlight in my dreams. I am offered a job, only find I have another job offer and I must choose. My dog is critiquing me, asking why I snooze the alarm so many times. We find a house, but it’s also a rental and I have to decide if it’s worth moving. Or I get World Series tickets—go Dodgers—but I have to sit in the haunted section of seats. Usually I wake up before these scenarios fully play out.
Waking up alone is normal. I sit up in bed, cross my legs and fold my hands into a bowl shape. Close my eyes and have a morning moment of presence. Then time begins: I make the coffee and take a Theanine capsule to cut the anxiety from edging my caffeine rush. I’ve lived with Boyfriend for nearly 5 years. Historically, Boyfriend makes the coffee because he’s the morning person. My pot of coffee is way less strong. I measure out the tablespoon to water ratio. He loves the ease of shaking fresh ground coffee into the filter until it looks right. In the morning, I wear his robe, because it’s more cozy than mine and because it is his. I pour the coffee into a travel cup, because I best metabolize coffee while in motion.
After a certain amount of puttering, I leash up my dog and walk. As I walk, I tell the air how grateful I am. Even on the weeks when heavy feelings sweep under my feet, separating me from sensation, I continue this practice. I sip my coffee. The consistency helps me calibrate, and recalibrate and calibrate and be still.
You know what I mean? It’s okay if you don’t, I’ve decided.
It’s funny that on an individual level we are expected to make it make sense. We are told to work at this, when chaos reigns so supreme. Maybe we each have our own perfect trajectory, but when we glance the crisscrossing applesauce of our singular threads—that’s the root of overwhelm.
After my mom got sick in such an unexplainable way, my dad started to worship the chaos—or at least respect it as a known god. Chaos isn’t malicious, it’s not targeted, it’s an ambient presence. The unknown space between stars, the grey matter in the brain, the extra slop of misc data that clogs up our iPhone storage. Chaos rambles and we learn to ride it. We get thrown off, we all spring back in different ways. Resilience crops up as defiance, as confidence, as healthy delusion. But Chaos continues as Chaos.
I want so much to hold myself and give all of me away. My palms start to sweat just by seeing that tension, knowing I must prioritize the first part of that sentence.
How do I spend the hours? Usually here, at the computer, typing. I eat chocolate for fun now, not because it’s the only thing in the cupboard. The phone is an organism. I keep a real paper calendar because if I pin an event on a digital month it will slip through time and never catch my eye. My awareness doesn’t have an anchor in such an intangible space. That’s okay.
My dream halloween costume is a vacuum. Not a vacuum cleaner, just a vacuum. What’s scarier than that? The girls on the phone pat on foundation and lipstick, but their glam lights are so good I can’t see a difference. Everyone is so beautiful, sorry it’s true! Every night I have a coconut ice cream bar before bed. Every morning I take a Theanine capsule before my coffee. Boyfriend has been working in a desert across the globe for over a month. And I’m here, I’m working on this book. A book that changes every day. Not in shape or content so much, but in feeling. Sometimes it’s all round and embracing. Other days I wonder if there’s nothing, just spaces in between words. It’s good to be alone right now, to coax the ideas on my morning walks. I miss Boyfriend, of course, but being alone makes me have to be strong. Does that make sense?
This year I applied to be a poll worker. Ideally, I’d be one of the people who shows voters to a booth or hands out stickers. In LA, you can make $100 for every day of poll work. Sometimes they even hire you for 10 days straight. There was a glitch with my application, I got a couple messages to be patient and wait for my location assignment. Turns out there was Chaos in the system, my application was marked as retired. Weird, right, so now I’m on a standby list. I think it would be fun to slide the ballots into the machine and even more fun to make anywhere from $100 - $1,000. Whenever I apply for a job and don’t hear back, I tell myself it’s because something better is coming. And then I go back to writing this book. A few months ago, someone ask me how I stay motivated to write. All I could say was I have no choice. And it helps to have a project that feels necessary. The moment something no longer fits that requirement, I take the lessons from the process, scoop them in my basket and leave the rest. Right now what I’m doing still feels necessary. The trick is figuring out what necessary means to you.
Does that make sense? If not, that’s okay. I’ve decided.
I love all the things that I can’t make make sense. Prevailing mystery is actually really hot.
"Does that make sense? If not, that’s okay. I’ve decided." engraving it on the inside of my forehead RIGHT NOW
Prevailing mystery IS really hot