Here it is. Three weeks until school starts up again, and the time has gone by so quickly. Although getting married and going on a long honeymoon is nothing to sneeze at, sometimes I feel a little like I haven't done much. I'm pretty sure it has a bit to do with the fact that I sleep until 10 or later most days. But lately, I've been staying up very late (hence this post) with thoughts charging through my mind at speeds my heart cannot keep pace with.
Sometimes there are so many things flooding my mind all at once that it seems impossible to sort through each thought and make any sense. My husband has the ability to quiet his mind and drift easily off to sleep. Literally, "Good night, honey; I love you"...snoooooore. So jealous. When I'm so irritated with my inability to even get tired that I begin thrashing about in anger, I come upstairs to distance myself from the blissful sleep of my partner. So I sit on my couch, watching Friends, and typing. So little to say that makes sense, that would be coherent on the page (screen?). The jumbled thoughts of my attempting-sleep mind do not translate into words. So much that needs to be said aloud, therapeutic to speak things that have never been spoken, but it's too hard.
Writing is good. It doesn't necessarily matter if I'm writing about the things I'm thinking about, I suppose. It's the same as watching tv; it keeps the mind elsewhere.
August is the time of year when the heat is peaking, when the mercury will soon begin to fall. Days before school begins again, the same patterns repeat as they have many years before: banners hang in stores advertising "Back to School" and all variations, children count down the days with dread or excitement, teachers start stressing over another new year with new students and ideas and challenges, and ripples of sadness echo over everyday things as we tick down the days of summer. This year's August began with new sadness, a tragedy close to home that made a city stop. Hearing the news, knowing I was there hours before it happened, feeling morbidly closer to death than I ever have before. The beginning of the aftermath with cranes brought in to remove debris, names of the departed being released, taking a detour for the first time. Surreal has been the only word that seems to adequately describe all this happening. It will be days, maybe weeks, before the recovery effort stops. Months, maybe years, until a new bridge is in place. Probably never until things are "back to normal". We will never be quite the same here in the city of lakes, and never before have I understood so clearly what a statement like that can mean.
Prayers and hope; faith and love.