There Is Something About Time That Numbs Us

I am not going to do it anymore.

I said, I am NOT going to do it anymore. My head has been in speed-mode for years and years and it is spinning so fast and so controlled that nothing has been able to stop it. There’s schedules and agendas, appointments and deadlines, I can’t even find time to go to the toilet.

Yes you did hear that right, I have been constipated for ages.

It is always buzzing around me, something is always making a sound.

I see my husbands shape in the heap of blankets beside me when I leave for work in the morning, and I believe he is able to define the curves of my hips and waist in the blankets when he comes home from work at night. I consider the times he talks in his sleep to be the most valuable conversations we have. I whisper back sometimes, just soft enough for him not to wake up. The sun comes up, the sun goes down, I crawl in and out of bed, and the moments in between are filled with buzzing sounds. Buzzing sounds and yellow post-its.

We have a system, my husband and I. The yellow post-its are for general information, the pink post-its are for emergencies, and the blue ones are for personal comments.

The other day when I woke up in the morning and went to the kitchen to get some breakfast, there was a yellow post-it on the refrigerator door saying there was left over Chinese in the plastic bag on the vegetable shelve inside the fridge. There was a pink one stating he had to cancel dinner appointments with my parents on Saturday because there were problems at the office, and there was a blue post-it that said;  “I think it’s time for a baby.”

I stared blankly at the refrigerator, and fell with  my knees to the floor a few seconds after the glass did that I had just dropped from my hand.

I remembered what I used to dream about, I thought of the birthday parties, the dinners and the trips to the park. I remembered the fresh air that always seemed to breeze through my future dreams. Back when impulsiveness didn’t make me angry. I looked down. Back when I felt things. I took a yellow post-it and wrote; “I am at the hospital, my knees needed some stitches”.  I took a blue post-it and wrote; “I quit my job,” and on the pink post-it I wrote; “We need to talk”.