(Written sometime in early June.)
If this week had a theme to it, it would be something like this:
Girl (woman?) starts going to bootcamp classes and is now dreaming up a new activewear wardrobe.
In between power jacks and burpees, I lay out the details in my head. I think, I’ll use that blue spandex I thrifted a while back. I’ll make a set of leggings (looser, going forward in life) and a little tank top. I want to look cute; a vain (is it?) desire that has accompanied me most of my life.
If this week had a theme to it, it would be moody, misty days in the Rocky Mountain West in early June. We’d mention how the wild flowers just keep going.
It would be muddy mountain roads and soggy dogs and a very dirty house. It would be a brand new couch draped in grimy sheets with no throw pillows. It would be dog pee on my vintage Turkish rug that has now been urinated on so many times that I need to pull it up and hose it down or get it professionally cleaned or just throw it away.
If this week had a theme to it, it would be abundant creativity. Compulsive sewing and a show-and-tell dinner time. It would be a mind obsessed with finishing those flowy pants.
If this week had a theme to it, it would be casually observing this energy to create, how it waxes and wanes; a roller coaster always.
If this week had a theme to it, it would feel brand new and yet the same as always. A girl (woman?) expecting all to be changed and reckoning with her ingrained habits and thoughts. She’s starting to accept that too.
The other night I awoke from a dream and could not remember a single detail of it. The only lingering remnant was the most certain feeling I had worked through something in dreamland. A part of my psyche knew peace it had never felt before. I still don’t know what happened or what was solved in those hours of unconscious amnesia.
And then, for the following four nights, I woke up with my cheek clenched tightly between my teeth.