Leanne wants to hang out.
It's been a long time, beside a few moments here and there. We've always been respectful of each other's lives and always remained somewhere between aquaintances and friends, but from time to time, and not in a long time, it leans into something else. Whatever that is. We never press it, or address it, but it happens.
We made plans and it dawned on me that now I have to clean. Only in the last few days had I started to crawl out of the swamp I had been trapped in, slowly sinking over months. I wondered if it was the new and much stronger medication, or if it was a couple of things my therapist had told me about safety and my instincts regarding love. I don't know. Something stuck either way and I was swimming quickly to the surface. But now I had to clean.
Occassionally, while I'm in the depths, I'll use cleaning as a distraction. A way to muffle the inner monologue. It doesn't always work and I often find myself arguing out loud to no one, but sometimes. However, for about a week I had been unable to bring myself to do much of anything. Yesterday had been better than the day before, and today has been better than yesterday, but there was still water above me.
I had to clean.
Laying on the couch, typing and deleting. The breeze of mid-June across my withering body. I'm going to get to it, but for now I'm putting it off. I did laundry anyway. The rest can wait.
The other day I had made fun of something Leanne had said and asked her where her childhood trauma wall was.
"What's a childhood trauma wall?"
I drank some coffee and set my phone down.
Maybe I'll just hit the carpet with a vacuum.
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