I first took the pseudonym “Bedside Poet” because I had stacks of books piled on my bedside table, because I would wake up in the middle of the night scribbling poetry, and poetry was always found on scraps, in bits and pieces of completed thoughts all around my bedside. Now, it’s different. Has life caught up with me?
Things at my bedside (seen):
– Candle & holder x 2
– Phone, needing to be charged
– Empty contact lens cases
– Tarot cards and book
– Plate from midnight snack
– Water glass
– Engagement and wedding rings, while I take a shower
– Camera case (no camera)
– Bloom’s mouse-shaped laser pointer.
Things at my bedside (unseen):
– Leather notebook (under plate)
– To-do list (mental)
– My dreams from last night
– The roles and discussions that circulated my head
– What kept me up
– My husband’s kisses
– Coughs and illness
– Humidifier to help with that
– All the questions that follow me around, but that I have no answers to
– Friends in need of my presence
It’s hard: how things pile up, even when we have good days of feeling like we’re taking care of it all. It’s just a juggling act, a balancing act, a tightrope walk. It’s nothing more glamorous than that.
Just don’t hold your breath. Keep breathing.
Good morning, T.