It is hard to think that life can be both on pause and on fast forward at the same time. The same two buttons pressed down on the tape deck. But that is how my life feels. My days play out in fast forward almost comically and the same days also linger on pause.
Even as I type out the words they make less and less sense. There is the ceaseless rush through my days. Breakfast, bunnies, school run, work, clean the house, do the washing, tick off things from the list, think about writing, do some writing, dinner, books, bedtime, start again.
Then there is the undeniable pause. The small moments that are suspended and stuck between the ceaseless fast forward. Sometimes it is like I catch a glimpse of them from the corner of my eye. Almost like the moments of pause are real and tangible, frozen ice instants in the corner of the room.
The year is still jazz hands good. There is so much to write about and so much to tell. And this is where I pause. The words lately are like balloons hovering above my head. Hundreds of ideas, feelings, thoughts and emotions trapped in these balloons. Then there is me holding onto the strings, looking up and seeing the words bounce around and float in the air, but not writing the words down.
Something is holding me back. A stark contrast to last year when all I could do was pour my words out and write. More so, I neglected other parts of my life just to write. Perhaps that is my problem. The extreme contrast I seem to dictate my life to. I don’t know. But there is something.
I feel better when I write. The pauses in my day melt. The rush feels insignificant. There is an ease that words alone cannot describe. The words are the antidote to the life that moves around me. You would think that such an antidote would be all consuming, addictive, a rush I would sweep aside most things to get more and more of.
Yet here I am sitting with my moments of pause and falling deep into the fast forward.
