
Sometimes, when things seem extra out-of-sorts, I like to take a little moment for myself.
It usually involves an old notebook of some kind: one that has been written in for reasons unremembered.
I like to then tear out those pages, ignoring the perforation and enjoying the squiggly spaghetti strands left in the silver spiral.
Fresh. Start.
I write my name: First, Middle, and Last.
Phone Number. Home Address. Job Title.
I marvel at the curvature of my handwriting.
This is me, on paper.
So simple.
Here I am.
. . .
Other times I reorganize my bathroom drawers: chapsticks, deodorant bars, shampoos, and dozens of trial-size soaps.
I put them in an orderly stack, and comfort myself with the promise-of-product inside.
I’ll wash away yesterday’s weariness.
My body will be made new.
. . .
And when I’m in bed, clothed in an oversized hooded sweatshirt, I hope the night will bring true rest.
Restoration.
Dreamless sleep.
Recovery.
. . .
Because here I am.
And here you are.
Here we are.
. . .

SnapDragon is a writer, artist, and tried-and-true fan of the Compact Disc.
Follow her Two-Bit Musings and more on Snippets of SnapDragon.
Leave a Reply