Breathe (October 2014 Writing Group)
It’s how you get through the day. Minute by minute.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Just one thing at a time.
You look at the clock and 5 minutes have gone. Build your day in minutes.
Life is pulsing, running shattered through your mind. It is the Medusa. If you look around at all there is to do you will freeze, you will stop. So don’t look.
Take a breath
Sit up. Pad out to the kitchen, get your coffee or your tea.
Look at the black cat sitting on the kitchen chair. It looks at you. It sees you. Say hi. Then shower. Propel your shell into the water and let it steam around you.
Back in the bedroom, put on a shirt, pants, some shoes. They don’t have to match, clash plaids and patterns. Wear a dress shoe and a sneaker. This is the city, no one will care. Grab your wallet. Grab your keys. Grab your phone.
Look at the clock. Only 20 minutes have gone by but they are 20 more minutes you have existed. You glance at the living room. The couch and TV are still there, a plate from last night still on a cushion. Don’t stop. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Go to the door. Hand on the knob, turn and pull; it creaks and daylight spills from around the frame. Walk across the threshold. Turn around.Close the door. Lock it.
Down the stairs. Out the front door.
This is how you get through the day, minute by minute, marking achievements in the minutiae of what gets done. Microscopic victories, but victories all the same. Time has a way of multiplying faster than mold or cockroaches. You can feel multitudes in a second, take all the overbearing world in to permeate your pores, feel your brain hum predictions and possibilities and pathways and images and futures not yet reached.
One thing at a time.