The sense of nothing

My fiancé brings me lemon balm tea as the sun rises. I water the marigolds as the sun hangs above, beating on my neck. I ponder life as I sit on our tile floor. I stare at the yellow walls and wonder why our landlord painted only one of the rooms pink. A blushing cheek in the middle of four walls of sunshine. I run my feet through the carpet that feels like a field of grass. A cloud of smoke hovering over the ocean in the distance. December. Two deaths, one birth and one pregnancy to close out the year. Two, one, one. 1,2,3…1,2,3, like a waltz.

A couple of days ago I laid on my bed for the whole day. This is before the deaths. Before life was taken like a whisper in the breeze. Before my mom called me with a shake in her voice. Before Christmas. I’ve always felt like I had a knowing about things. Me and the Earth attached like Peter Pan’s shadow. I was born with a sixth sense for dread. There I was, laying in bed, looking at the palm trees. Oscillating between crying and stillness. Crawling across the king bed, my body seeking out the patches of the sun. This was before the birth. Before my brother called and showed us the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. A day old child in an old world. My body hot and my fingers cold swimming on the blue comforter. My stomach wrapping itself in cramps. I thought about the year. I thought about myself and what I wanted more of and what I wanted less of. I thought about the pressure of making sure that something, anything, happened in the new year. I wrestled with myself and the sadness and the joy and the boredom and the tiredness. As the sun set and the pink spread across the floor, I dragged myself to the shower. The water boiling, rushing like tiny streams to the cold spots. The pink from the room reaching out and surrounding the sky, the sun and the palm trees.

Four days until the year merges with another. The fireworks will go off. People will drink bubbles, howl at the moon and try to their best to leave a part of them behind. January 1st promising immediate enlightenment. I wonder if it’s all a lie. 32 New Years under my belt and nothing Earth shattering happened when the clock struck 12. I was still me wondering if I was ever going to write a book or work on my German or start running or or or or. I realized though that nothing happened on January 1st. It’s the other 364 days that I toss to the side. That I pick through like a vulture and toil with and toss around my mouth tasting to see if it’s good enough to swallow. Pondering if today is the today I will start the thing. Everything has a starting point. As long as I set myself up to never start, I never will. As long as I create an environment to always fulfill my the self-fulfilling prophesy of “well I never started because…” then it will never happen. When I got in the shower that day, I decided to get out of my own way. To let everything go down the drain. This was before I found out about the pregnancy. Another chance to start again. Maybe I’ll just get out of my own way. Stop trying to force the DJ to start the music and start dancing with what I have.

1,23…1,2,3…………..