I wake up and my head is already cluttered. "You should meditate. Do yoga. Become a goat herder". I hear my Mom's calm sweet voice in the back of my head. No can do, Ma, I'm too busy having full-on, energetic sext with my clothes on, in a parking garage in my imagination, while I'm reviewing all the half-pretentious sounding crap I may or may not have said yesterday in a meeting, and wondering about how the pain in my stomach feels like it might be a cancerous growth that is already terminal and leaving me with possibly 3 months to live if I'm lucky. No time! All this and I haven't gotten out of bed yet.
Deep breath. And release.
I know I've been on this topic for a while now: my cluttered head, but it seems to be getting worse. It used to be that I needed peace and silence at 4:30 am to write; now I need to be in a noisy room and on the phone. At the meeting, three of us sat at a long conference table with a black box in the middle which wired in voices of other people from Utah and New York. I stared at the box listening to the voices, while inside my head I was busy trying to shush the voice that was telling me this was weird.
Me:You're talking to a box right now.
Me 2: This is how it's done babe, would you just calm down.
Me: It's funny though.
Me 2: Just be cool.
Me: I am cool.
Me 2: You're not, but just pretend.
Me: What're you talking about, I just had sex on my iphone this morning.
Me 2: That's your imagination. This is real.
Me: Oh...wait, what?
Producer Running The Meeting: Did you want to say something Deirdre?
I've been yelling at my kids to get off the phone which now means get off about 8 websites and social networks... and they are just sitting there quietly. Isn't this a good thing? Nothing seems wrong really...I try to go through the list of what I have to do, but random facts drop into my head like pebbles off a cliff before an avalanche. Get off the phone you guys! I just said the words get off. I need to look at that last sext one more time. What did he say again?....ahhh.
I stopped by the side of the lake so I could send a text. I'm confessing to you that I would text while I drive but I literally can't see the letters. I don't have a choice. While I'm reaching for my glasses, I notice the people walking around the path, the air smells like eucalyptus and I get a brief glimpse of peace. I look at the phone. The text is direct and more exciting than you can imagine. He tells me what he wants to do to me.
Yeah, I want you to, I text back.
I close my eyes and breathe and try to shush the voice that says this feels sad and wrong. This is the 21st century. This is how it's done.