Shadows, Sunrise

Sheets cover the lower half of my body. The nearby freeway hums and rumbles in the background. Light from streetlamps sneaks through closed blinds and diffuse the darkness. Turned toward the center of the bed, I watch; I listen. I realize I’m not breathing, not because I’m consciously holding my breath, but because of the little one beside me.

She takes my breath away.

Little lungs inspiring as deeply as they can, relaxed eyelids, the muted and peaceful glow of her face siphon happiness from places within I never knew and fill my heart that I’m still getting to know. There’s tightness, discomfort from contentedness. It is solid ground and a highwire. I teeter along the cognitive dissonance where happiness and doubt coexist.

The first eight weeks cast an easily darker shadow on my perspective. I couldn’t ignore hormones and just smile. I couldn’t ignore harmless comments or even generous offers of help and instead took offense. I couldn’t ignore persistent, pulsing cries pleading for simple needs to be met. I couldn’t help myself.

Objectively, months later levels are more even. There’s more smiling, fewer eggshells. We use the bathroom. We eat. We sleep. Fulfilling these needs reveals the complexity of her personality, the obvious need to be nurtured, guided, taught. Is it Maslowesque. Is it even a pyramid.

What am I doing. Is it good enough. Will it ever be good enough.

I allow myself to inhale her overwhelming beauty, her skin aubergine, opalescent in the wee hours. I continue watching her as the bedroom slowly brightens. The air conditioner and refrigerator harmonize in my subconscious, but her breathing completes the chord and finally lulls me to sleep.

It’s good enough for now.

There are still shadows, though fainter. They do not come from her.

If You Want to Read This, You Know What to Do.


Discipline


I lie in bed at 3am
trying to write a poem.
My light is on
and I try not to disturb the crickets.
Their hearts have reached a resting state
and they are saving their songs for tomorrow.
They have discipline.
The loudest thing this morning
is my pen
The most impetuous thing this morning
is my mind
conspiring against the pen
haphazard on the page
scrawling into illegibility
which isn’t like me.

(Unentitled)

I found your letter the other day
My eyes a-round at the words it said
Did your heart pound as you wrote “Dear May”
As mine wound before it dead?

Your sure and steady manuscript
And pen full of ink equipped
Flowed into words of none clipped
While my soul into two, ripped.

Tears plunged onto the folded page
My mind lunged back to a fonder age
Our lives have ranged, as we bask in sage
The wage you won. Are we done?

Are we?

About Three Years

Last night, I went to mapmyrun.com – which I haven’t used in three years – and logged in and mapped a two-mile route. Then I ran that route this morning. I still feel pretty incredible, and it’s been almost twelve hours. I went really slow, about a 10-minute pace, as I hadn’t run outside in cold weather in a very long time. I remember training for the Austin half-marathon a while back, and that was during the winter, but I had a rule of not running when it’s below 30 degrees. Well, this morning, it was about 20 degrees, but it wasn’t too bad, given the dryness of Utah. Plus, after five minutes, I was nice and toasty, but I still had a little trouble breathing. Not because of elevation, but because I’m out of shape. I didn’t stop, though; that sort of surprised me.

This is one of my routes in New York City. I’m not going to post today’s route because I don’t feel like giving any weirdos out there my location.

On 3.5 Hours of Sleep

This really isn’t anything new, this lack of sleep, but this semester has really hit the ground running. I’m actually current with my homework, but then again, it’s only the second day of class. Keeping this pace is going to be the challenge.

I’m starting to take time to do the “little” things. Daily half-hour of scripture study; prayer. Temple attendance is more of a big thing, but yeah, there’s that, too.

I do have priorities, and that means I’m going to have to require respect of my time.

Have I written about this before? Like, a few days ago?

Ah, yes. Focus.

It’s time to hit the books again.