When I am done with words

Every weekday morning, I get dressed up for work. 

I’m not going to any office, right now. I’m not going anywhere where anyone but my husband and kids can see me.

A few weeks back, in “To walk through,” I wrote about the importance of boundaries as a many-trauma survivor in the era of COVID-19. For me, clothing is a boundary:

Dressing for work helps me distinguish between work and not-work time, when all these times are now spent at home.

I get dressed for work, and it feels great.

This week has been a little rough on me.

My kids get up between 5 a.m. and 6 a.m. I’m with them from the moment they awaken until the moment I don my work clothes and begin work at 8 a.m.

Then, after work, I’m with them for another couple of hours, with a brief respite hiding lounging in my room from 5 to 5:30 p.m.

I love them deeply, but I’m an introvert, and I’m ready to hide under a pile of clothing in my closet for the merest chance of a moment’s quiet by 5:30 p.m.

Yesterday, surrounded by amazing books at the end of my workday, I found I didn’t want to read a single one. I wondered what I could do that didn’t involve many words, and quickly found my answer: I could color in one of the pages my sister Rache made for art time with her kids!

Rache’s newest coloring page

After ten minutes of that, I felt pretty zen. I felt so zen in a world away from words, I did not want to go back to anything word-like.

So I picked up something I haven’t picked up in months: my juggling balls. I only got these in July, when a fluke of circumstance led me to understand, in my bones, why my husband loves contact juggling.

Me, September 2019

It’s Thursday evening now, and I’m sitting here … writing words. Yet, somehow, I don’t feel tired by all these words.

Why don’t I feel tired?

Because I remember, for the moment,
exactly where to go
when I am done with words.

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