Things that feel heavy . . .

Air. Or maybe it’s gravity. Whichever it is, it makes it hard to breathe at times. The weight of the thing (air? gravity?) seems to settle over my lungs according to its own indiscernible fancy, and when it does, I simply have to take the air I can get and hope it will pass quickly. Before I do.

My emotional baggage. I believe I’m carting around a complete, matching set. And to all those who think it reasonable to suggest I simply choose to stop carting it around or to let it all go, I offer a few choice expletives and the opportunity to walk themselves back out the door before I toss them out. It isn’t that I’m holding on. Every piece is attached to me like a ball and chain, which means in order “to get on with life,” I must unpack them and then rip them all up. That is slow, tedious work, and it’s basically been on hold for the past year, all while more pieces are being added to the set. Welcome to my slog.

My eyelids. The last two days have been so emotionally exhausting! Even though I’m currently getting more sleep each night than has been true of the past nine months, I’m. So. Tired. Today.

The present moment. This Now. It’s packed with uncertainty and unanswerable questions that keep piling up and insisting that I wait in silence until the appropriate “now” moment arrives with its minuscule revelations.

Isolation and the disconnection it creates. Being untethered in a weightless nowhere makes your own self the heaviest mass, and any sudden movement could send you careening off into the depths of a void you’ll never find your way out of again. Or maybe it makes your own mass so heavy you’ll never move again, while everything else keeps going without you. Either way, it’s heavy. Either way, I’m heavy.