I write in the cracks. First thing in the morning, bleary-eyed, laptop in bed. It’s not much and it’s not my best, but it’s what I have to give.
Because right now is all about taking care of business. Finishing my degree. Sorting through our things. Carting load after load to St. Vinny’s. Dropping Reed off at school, picking him up, folding the laundry, soaking the oats, frying the eggs, painting the walls. I get the feeling that I will look back on this late-autumn, and I won’t remember it at all. I hardly see it right now.
Will I remember listing to Serial while going through Reed’s closet, piles here, piles there? Will I remember how Helen and I laughed when we saw that Margot had learned to climb up the ladder to Reed’s bunk bed or getting fried cheese curds with the kids at Wendigo? And, wait, what else happened this last weeks, again?
I don’t know. The pace doesn’t suit me. But life happens in the cracks, and I will keep trying to see it there.
If I remember it honestly, I think that when I look back on this late-autumn season, I will remember watching reruns of The Office on my phone while doing the night’s dishes, plugging away at homework wrapped in blankets on weekend afternoons, checking Bay Area rentals on Craigslist obsessively. That is my life right now. Transitions are like that sometimes.
Even in the cracks.