Swiping at the Firmament

Photo by Ryan Visima

Photo by Ryan Visima

Today was a very, very challenging day at work. I tried to hold tightly to the high from last night’s successful show, but with the collective stress of my office-mates as we banded together to trouble-shoot, it was more than challenging. I want so badly for this to turn out well, because so many people have worked so hard. I’m blowing on the dandelion fluff of prayer right now…

Arthur left tonight, which I’m usually ok with, but this time it feels a bit heavy. Despite a snoring Toulouse, my apartment feels really empty without him. I’m trying to sit with my loneliness, and sadness, and stress. It’s easy to crave a distraction from these things, but I’ve learned the value of being comfortable with these less than stellar feelings. I’m still not great at this, but it gets better each time I feel this way.

I had ambitions of putting my house back together after a whirlwind week, but all I could manage was a sweep of the floor. It still looks like a panty factory blew up. A panty factory full of colourful chickens, and stockings. I will compromise with myself by putting fresh linens on the bed, washing the dishes before I sleep, and quickly cleaning the bathroom in the morning. I’ve also discovered the glory of the wash and fold laundry service around the corner. It sounds decadent, I know, but in a moment of desperation, I filled a large garbage bag with the rubble of Mt. Laundry and hauled it over. It cost $2 more than usual to have the lovely couple who own the joint do it for me. And it was done by the time I got home from work.

Today, a beautiful new friend responded to a Facebook message I sent, telling her that “the sky was falling”. She said, “Good luck catching it.”

I was struck by this.

The idea of the sky falling immediately makes me feel like I should be doing something to hold it up, which in turn feels impossible. Catching pieces of sky seems like a less monumental task; like catching snowflakes, or raindrops. Do what you can. Collect bits and understand that they will melt, or evapourate because the sky is nothing we can control, or contain, or even begin to hold on to. Before you kick in to Henny-Penny overdrive, remember this. Sometimes when the sky falls, its a reminder that we never should have assumed it was going to stay overhead in the first place.

And sometimes, to lift our hearts and remind us that everything is cyclical, we get a rainbow. Or two.

(and all household chores are waiting until the morning. who am i trying to kid?)