learning to be alone

A day in the life of a writing retreat:

I note my impulse to write everything down. How many cherries. How many bowls of Tostitos. Then a shower. Before that a swim.

Writing things down seems like a way to prove to people that I still exist even though my children aren’t here to tell me so.

When you’ve been mothering for 16 years, you exist mostly in relationship to your children. But here, alone, I exist without them. It’s the flies that tell me. You know it by the feeling in your body when we land on you. Ha.

I keep a fly swatter in every room.

My daughter keeps texting to see if I’m being productive. She heard from my mother that I might have ambitions but slip into loneliness and depression. My previous work partner went on writing retreats often. It never seemed accessible to me with two little kids. Even now it seems luxurious.

I find so many reasons to take breaks, to explore things on the internet. When is the best time to cut a piece of a hydrangea and replant it? How do I make Italian carrot cake? What the hell is Italian carrot cake?

I play Sonata III by Mozart a few times. I try to relax my fingers so I can play faster. Faster.

Put a Taylor Swift record on.

Check on my companion on the porch (cat). She’s still there. Good. I heard a screech this morning and thought I would have to call my friend to transport me to the vet with a one-legged Coco. I just assume the time will come when she will get into a fight and lose a leg.

I take a pause to go for drinks at my friend’s house down the street. I ride my bike while balancing a heavy bottle of rosé. I'm excited to see a person but also to use her nail cutters for my hang nail. That’s been a serious distraction. My husband says to use normal sized scissors and cut off my finger. *He doesn’t say the part about cutting off my finger, but it’s implied.

I’m worried about the internet and how anything you put on it has to be helpful.

I feel like since I’m here I might as well write an inspirational list.

How to be Alone

1. Eat mono meals. A handful of carrots. A piece of salami. A smattering of chips. A burger with no bun. Adding ketchup and a jalapeño to each piece of burger is fine, but no lettuce.

2. Fall asleep between sentences but don’t call it depression.

3. Turn the AC off so you’re living in a hazy dream state.

4. If your cat still has both its legs, ask her how she does it—living. She’ll lead by example.

5. Surrender.

The Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante. I found it in my parents’ room at the farm and assumed my mom had already read it. I was pleased that I could randomly find such interesting books in her room. She saw me reading it,

“Hey, that’s my book.”

“Don’t you want me to be a reader?”

I’m amazed at my backward leap into teenage petulance. I like the feeling. Also my mother’s patience. Apparently this is not the first book I have “rehoused” without asking.

My summer looks so far.

Finding nerdy joy while directing. From our recent short film shoot.

New favourite brewery.

Alone.

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