Yes, I really didn’t know what the hell I was going to write about this week.
That was just about the only complete thought I had as my exhausted head finally hit the pillow last night.
The night before I write and share my latest post.
The light was off as I jettisoned my clothes and softly pulled back the duvet on my side
The dark that enveloped me was so total it was filled with immeasurable pinpoints of the most vivid orange. How can total darkness actually be so bright?
I shrugged my bared shoulders under the primordial bedcovers, sinking down, down, down into pre-dream logic and re-invention.
In the darkness I was no longer a body, or even an entity. I was pure impression and sensation and what might have been memories if I thought about them.
Time, distance and limits no longer meant anything, or dimensions even.
The part of my brain still dealing in thoughts and concepts knew all this was coming from that spongy brain thing encased in what I call my head, at the top end of my curled up torso and limbs, and we were all lying on a low rectangular bed in a larger rectangular room, in an even larger rectangular house … in a town, in a country … all tangible and finite.
But without visibility, these limits had lost their definition, and I could have been literally anywhere … floating off in the limitless universe, an invisible thought bubble in a pitch-black forever.
Grateful for that extra duvet layer my wife has just added, I felt simultaneously vast and microscopically small in this, my own private universe.
I had been here forever but was just a fleeting blip in time.
Or was my whole existence just an imagining?
How easy would it be to drift off now into the great wide open like a piece of floating coral seeking out its anchoring reef?
On to the next stage of my lifecycle.
Was I awake or was I asleep?
The extra snuggling weight on my torso instantly transported me into childhood beds where we had those things we called blankets.
Layer upon layer of these heavy scratchy, lifeless things that weighed us down but made us warm and safe.
Safe enough to drift off into blameless childhood sleep.
Like I said, I don’t know what to write.
It was so easy when the kids were younger, and things seemed pretty clear. Tiring and demanding, but clear.
Now they are teenagers and things are much more complicated.
I am not free to write what I want when it comes to my family life.
I could so easily bang on and on about my kids and what has been going on, for them and us, but I can’t, not really. At least not directly.
Complicated actually doesn’t begin to cover it.
I am dealing with other complete people, with their own thoughts and feelings, their own take on things.
Besides I am writing to be read and lo and behold, some people read these musings.
And some of them know us. Like, to see – and there are those who know our kids, and us.
That’s why I am uneasy even about sharing the positive things, and why I drift off into allusion and intimation, and deliberate obfuscation.
But not enough for family members to be always easy about what I do write.
Like, for example, I wrote before Christmas about our son’s efforts to find a new football team.
I did not put these posts on my general Facebook page, because I did not want football people locally to know what was going down for us.
But I found out that they had been reading my stuff, or at least had been directed to the stuff that was of interest to them.
Now luckily enough O has joined a really good team, and we are so relieved and so delighted … they came looking for him, and really value him, which is wonderful, but I do not want to compromise him in any way … even writing about how positive it has all been so far.
As for our daughter, all I can say is the whole thing continues to challenge us, right to our very core, and it would be wonderful, in one way, to be free to share stuff with people in similar situations and benefit from their wisdom.
But it’s not really on.
Deep down, I know she is a great kid. Bright and interesting and talented. Beautiful.
But also full of doubt, frustration, and anger. A diffused anger that is hard to contain. For herself and for us.
Like so many teenagers she finds it hard to get out of the way of her own talents and positive qualities, to let them breathe and grow naturally.
And like them all, she will probably succeed and grow into her real beauty despite herself. And us, it seems!
And we, her parents will forgive and forget the bad stuff and move on.
Like all parents and their adult children do, apparently.
But all of this is why I was hoping something would pop into my head that would fill this space and all would be good.
But the truth is I would like to write about nothing else, not really, and so my head would not oblige with a good digressive piece.
Not this week anyway.
- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, try another one! Follow my blog and you won’t miss out again.
Tales From Mamaville