The hum of the dishwasher keeps me going. I can hear two plates/cups/bowls/knives jiving together, clinking foreheads, or fist-bumping, or Eskimo-kissing among the tidal waves of dishwater. Perhaps they are in love. Or fighting. Or both.
Looking at my planner, I have most of my hours scheduled, and I've found myself here again, caught in the fog of yesterday and tomorrow, walking (sometimes sprinting) through each moment, unaware if I am in today's evening or the next day's morning.
Ironically, I'm writing a paper about how technology has impaired our ability to stay present.
I am so grateful for e-mails though, and how they let our words meet as instantaneously as we'd like, how they can sit there for awhile and wait to be opened, like presents, (presence?). It doesn't quite work that way for subject lines marked "URGENT: REPLY ASAP" — or maybe it does... like an over-decorated, demanding, be-ribboned Jack-in-the-Box...... or something.
Welcome to the evening, night-owls. To my fellow writers, friends, and lovers: welcome to rest, welcome to work, welcome to the meeting of days. Wishing you the best.
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