On occasion, I have come to quick understanding that I have no idea where I am. If I have just been startled from sleep this, of course, makes all sorts of sense... because we are all dreamers. But if, say, I had this realization while holding the hand of my small boy while walking down the street chatting about trucks and flowers and bees and strawberries what would this mean?
I am a time-traveler?
I am an interloper?
I am sleep-deprived and have been sleep-walking?
My small boy is more diabolical than I could have ever imagined?
No.
Alas, I am one of many... Awake-Walkers... Untravelers... Occasional Sleepers... filling out the ranks of the Semi-Lost. Or... maybe... just Logistically Disoriented... but that, then, is probably the same animal.
Mothering. Wife-ing. Wistfully wishing back to girlfriend-ing and dating-my-not-yet-husband days. Neglect-ing my brushes, pencils, paper and paint. Eating shit. Drinking crap. Talking about dump trucks all day and forgetting to include spinach in the pasta. Drat.
I do feel supremely lost AND insufficient AND bewildered by my casual lack of guidebook, map or detailed instructions. But I am also supremely satisfied AND fortunate AND... additionally bewildered by the languid twist of happiness that has come to become my own.
Occasionally, though, the rough out feels the smooth and I just feel all sorts of out and... half-asleep and... lost.
