the past few weeks have been a kaleidoscope. at times, i look around and i see the most beautiful colors and shapes and they are all dancing together and they are so quiet. it's like swimming with a deep breath.
then. there are those nights where the shaking and the rattling and the turning are all just too much and i vacillate between insomnia and deep, out of control sleeping that feels like smothering and i can't seem to stop dreaming long enough to actually rest. i find my subconscious reverting back to the typical nightmares of waiting tables where i'm late for my shift and i can't get to everyone at once and no one will help me run drinks. i wore the wrong shoes and i'm going to get written up and every restaurant i've ever worked at becomes one long hallway of tables and i wake up wondering if i turned in the order for table 11.
my baby has weaned himself in the last week. and i just sat here and wrote about seventeen sentences, one of top of the other, backspace backspace backspace.
these little steps. away. they seem to come quicker this time around.
we went to see my grandparents this weekend. and we are at that strange stage where we know, with certainty, that each time we see them might be the last. i suppose, philosophically speaking, this is true of everyone we see, but it's so much more blatant when you're 94.
i watched my daughter and my grandfather talking and i simultaneously held my breath and tried to look away. even as i snapped pictures. because we all get old. and it sucks. and my daughter has no idea that when i was her age, my grandpa was my favorite person in the whole world and the way he leaned into her when she spoke was so familiar that i felt for a second like i was her and i wondered if he thought that for a minute, too. and then i saw my mom sitting there and that's her dad. and he is very near the end of his life and she is watching it happen and my grandma comes in from getting her hair done and she laughs out loud with that infectious laugh of hers at my son's little one year old antics and we pack up the car and head home and trade pleasantries like it is 1986 and we have so much time ahead of us.
i start to think that i will be them one day.
and, for the first time, it stuns me.
sometimes this kaliedoscope is a big, beautiful pile of nonsense.