I wrote nothing today…

Usually, if I can’t find something to write, I find some of these failed and false start bits and fragments and start there. I have a lot of these poems… or lines of poems- sometimes a fragment or phrase and something happens. Sometimes it takes all day. But I have taken all day. And nothing. Really. Nothing. And it is okay to write nothing.

It isn’t that I don’t feel anything or I have nothing to say… but right now it isn’t in words. It just never settled into something that I could put down on paper… or in this case, into bits and bytes. It is this “I don’t know” thing creeping in… maybe a bit of fatigue… maybe something that we don’t have words for.

I am doing significantly better this year than last. And I do have a bit of anxiety about tomorrow… about the second anniversary of my son’s death. I’m sad. But in general, more consumed by the stressful preparations of a trip to Maui, of my mother’s recent health crisis and transition to a more fragile, less independent state… worried about a pile of uncorrected, unrecorded papers… and a three day conference. All normal stressful things in life. Bad feet… healing small wounds before vacation… really, I worry about that.

I am not worried about tomorrow… and no plans of calling in sick. Maybe go get sushi after work. I am a bit sad… and also angry. Not really about anything… but some unfocussed nagging irritation. And so I am not really arguing with people about politics… just pushing… maybe lashing out in some small way. I am only a little discouraged… as if I can do what I need to do, but I don’t really feel like it… like it has lost motivation. It is an anniversary… a dark one, that I think we should mark, even though I don’t want to. I’d like to be around people… and failing that… around tasty raw fish. It is okay to be sad.

I don’t drink. And I didn’t tonight. I thought of getting a shot of Jameson for Ethan… and for St. Patrick’s day… and I wonder if Ethan’s depression, his final crisis, had anything to do with St. Patrick’s day… and how unlikely that would sound. I will ask myself questions with no answers tomorrow. I will play the game of “if only…” for a bit. I will strain to hear his laugh in my head… or see his face… and it is okay.

Tomorrow is Wednesday. And I don’t think my feet are good enough for karate. So if I can convince people to come, I will go to Niko Niko in Redlands and mourn. And laugh I hope. Tomorrow is just another day… nothing particularly special… and you don’t drink or fall back on cultural stereotypes or wear a specific color (or get pinched.) There is no celebration. No cards. No special Google title. But I will mark the day… the anniversary of my son’s last day of life…


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