I’m trying to get back into the habit of posting here more regularly again. It’s lunch time, and I’m trying to make sure I don’t go beyond the break to write. Just like I’ve been trying to be good with doing my art journaling.
You try to sort through the many thoughts running through your head and try to remember the ones you wanted to write about. I’m kind of stumped.
It’s a beautiful but terribly cold day. I made the mistake of walking out without my headgear nor my gloves, which made me postpone my plan to walk to one of my favorite bead stores to pick up more craft wire. It’ll have to wait for until later. Or tomorrow even. I’m in no rush. The promise of warmer and higher temps makes me smile, but I’m not holding my breath. How many times has the weatherman said we were going to hit this and that and ended up 10 degrees lower than promised? (Again, someone make sure that Mother Nature gets the memo, please!)
I need to dig into some Fourth Grade arithmetic because the tyke has a unit test tomorrow. Unfortunately for him, he seems to have gotten the gene that made numbers disagree with me when I was younger. But we are both trying. Motherhood and homework are bestfriends and inseparable, and I only wish I wasn’t grappling with other issues and could be at my 110% for the boy. Nothing earth-shattering. I think I’ve gone through that the latter part of 2013. My world has settled to a numbing calm, but it’s also ground to an almost halt.
Sometimes I find myself standing still in the elevator or while waiting for the bus and I find myself wandering off in thought. And there’s that creepy wish within not to move an inch this way or that. Like I just want to stand there and not have to go… to anywhere. But I always need to go — out of the elevator, out of the building, onto the line, and on the bus.
Spring is just around the corner, they say. (They were counting down to it in the news this morning.) Again, I’m not holding my breath. In the 14 years I’ve been in New York City, I’ve experienced one of their worst winter storms one April maybe a decade or so ago. (Too lazy to google.) Almost a quarter of the year done. Six months to the most challenging time I’ve had to go through.
Another audible sigh. Of relief. I’m still standing. My world is in a status quo that it isn’t. That statement doesn’t and yet at the same time makes a whole lot of sense to me. At a time when I am weighed down by a forced moratorium on raising expectations, I’m actually bouyed by the thought that I made it through the last six months. Scarred but not beaten. Not feeling the winner but holding the trophy…
Lunch break’s over. Time to get on with life again.
Pinay New Yorker 