Kind of a Normal Day
I got so much accomplished today!
I went to HotWorx where I did yoga and cycle in 125-degree far infrared heat, made myself a spinach smoothie, painted a coffee table while listening to 80s and 90s music, worked all day from home on Mission Hills stuff, and ended the day with dear friends over great food and drinks. In a few minutes, I will check my scoby (the growing blob of stuff that gives kombucha its magic powers) given to me by a friend who is trying to help support my booch habit.
From the outside looking in, it looks like a normal day. Well, maybe except for the scoby part.
There were a lot moments throughout this day when I felt kind of normal.
But there’s always an underlying emptiness. Sometimes I acknowledge it, and it — this emptiness that seems to have its own life — allows me to continue painting or working or whatever I’m doing that makes me feel like I’m in a kind of normal life. Sometimes I skim over it like a rock skipping over a pond, because I fear that if I let it penetrate the surface, it will take me over, and I just want to enjoy a normal moment.
I was painting my table and dancing to Fire by the Ohio Players. And I thought, “But Chandler’s not here.” I looked up on the shelf at one of my treasured possessions — a collage of Chandler pictures a friend made for me. I wondered what would happen if I just imagined Chandler there with me, enjoying the music and digging the new grey table. I remembered how we danced the night away a couple of years ago at a friend’s wedding. It made me happy while I finished up my table. And also, it hurt like hell because I won’t be dancing with him any more. Not here.
I’m grateful for this day, this kind of normal day.