Tonight is turning out to be a difficult night to write. Not because I can’t find the words but because I feel crowded. I’m more sensitive than usual to the noises and presence of the people I live with. I’m feeling grumpy at them for existing in my space. I know, that’s not nice, not their fault. I know all that. I know that I shouldn’t be so annoyed to hear them laugh at the internet, or talk to the TV or breath in a way I can hear. Or worse, eat in a way I can hear. I made up a little saying to communicate my mood:
Bags of meat! Bags of meat! Walk away on your meat bag feet! Leave me alone with my words and thoughts!
And of course they won’t walk away, I’m the one who has to find a space in our shared home conducive to me settling down to write. This happens occasionally, I feel brittle and stretched by the demands of people outside my head. They want things. My attention, mainly, and sometimes, like tonight, I don’t want to give it. I want to listen to music and put on my hoodie and dive headlong into the world I’m creating. Tonight it feels like every time I step through the door, someone is pulling me back into this world.
Let me go, just for a while, let me fall into that space between worlds.
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