Tonight is turning out to be a difficult night to write. Â Not because I can’t find the words but because I feel crowded. Â I’m more sensitive than usual to the noises and presence of the people I live with. Â I’m feeling grumpy at them for existing in my space. Â I know, that’s not nice, not their fault. Â I know all that. Â 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. Â Or worse, eat in a way I can hear. Â I made up a little saying to communicate my mood:
Bags of meat! Bags of meat! Â Walk away on your meat bag feet! Â 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. Â This happens occasionally, I feel brittle and stretched by the demands of people outside my head. Â They want things. Â My attention, mainly, and sometimes, like tonight, I don’t want to give it. Â I want to listen to music and put on my hoodie and dive headlong into the world I’m creating. Â 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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