katharsis

Sometimes breathing feels like drowning.

I woke up at 8:39, long after my husband has gone to work. I couldn’t make his morning coffee, which has been a source of joy for me.

Checked my phone and saw a long email from a parent whose child is having trouble at school.

Spent the first half hour of my day responding to them and the next couple of hours thinking about it. I’m still thinking about it now.

As I was making my morning coffee, I thought about it too, and ended up spilling some of the coffee I ground because I had forgotten that I unscrewed the dosing cup from the grinder when I picked it up.

I ground the beans a little finer today. Still, I felt the water drained a little too quickly. Layers of frustration for breakfast, maple syrup on top. “You forgot to buy butter,” my husband said last night.

“I haven’t gone grocery shopping,” I replied.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he said, taking me aback.

I appreciate apologies more than the average person, I feel. But I don’t forgive easily. I hold on to grudges as if they were a lifebuoy.

Perhaps, I should have learned how to swim.

But there are countless things I couldn’t learn because I was too scared. I wish my mother had not allowed Fear to ever steer my boat, but she did not know any better, did she?

The things I need to do lay on top of the things I have yet to do. Sometimes I am shocked at how quickly the day ends, how I have only dozed off to sleep, and the sun has once again risen, only to set a moment later.

It has been twenty one years since the movie A Walk to Remember came out. It’s surreal how much time has passed, how much I’ve aged. Mortality feels like a tragedy, but what is there to do? I breathe because I don’t have a choice.

I grasp my own hand from the surface of the water to keep my body from sinking.