TrueFlow

I woke up at 3:40 this morning, cock-eyed on the pillow, head aching, nose that needed blowing. And then the thoughts started running, and I couldn’t make them stop. Couldn’t slow the flow, so I got up.

The other day, I stood at the kitchen sink scrubbing an empty peanut butter jar, oils clinging to my fingers, and my mind ran wild with all I wanted to write about. And Lala sang songs from the other room and asked me questions that I didn’t want to miss and wanted to ignore, both.

In that moment, I longed to block it out, but couldn’t. Every conversation, every squabble, every sing song, so much talking. And I answer, the other night, irritated and squinting, what? and my 11-year-old laughs hard and tells me I sound like an elderly lady who needs her hearing aid adjusted.

What?

I can’t hear, but I can’t not hear. It’s true.

At the sink, I try thinking my own thoughts, writing lines in my head so I’ll remember, but they flow like water right through my fingers and down the drain. I try to catch them, but off they go.

A few weeks ago at the office where I work once a week, I cut postcards with a paper cutter, its huge arm slicing cardstock with the same skee-rach sound over and over, hundreds of cuts. Skee-rach. I ask the receptionist and the woman in the office across from where I stand if the sound is driving them crazy.

I just block it out, they say. I don’t even hear it.

What?!

How do you not hear it?

I cannot stop hearing or seeing or feeling and I guess this is my living fully awake, and I count it blessing, but sometimes, too, I want the flow to stop so I can take a deep breath.

It keeps coming, though, the steady flow, and some pools in my hands and some swirls right on down.

Joining with the Five Minute Friday community at Lisa-Jo Baker’s. This morning began with the prompt: TRUE. Anyone relate to this little piece of my true? What’s a piece of true for you?

Five Minute Friday