Trying to find the moment that wants to be written.
It must be wedged in here somewhere in the volumes of business as usual in the day of an interventionist. I think of a student I talked to after group. Not a slice. Making letter books for kinderbuddies on lunch. Nope. Decisions made. Naw. Teach points. Blah.
After school Mom calling me to report the power is out. So I went to Rosies and brought home smoked salmon and shrimp so we could lay out snacks if the electricity isn’t back on at dinner.
It is. And Mom is across the table from me, reading ads and chomping on her food, trying to engage me in rhetorical conversations about round robot vacuum cleaners. The chomping annoys me excessively. I feel petty.
And what is real in my day is all focused in the lack of energy I feel – the pressing weight of weariness. I haven’t had two martini’s like mom so I think the ads she mentions are ferociously boring. And the dog yaps across the street while my nails make this annoying click click on the keyboard. Shift.
And I should be perky and nice but I just feel zapped. Me squished equals slice.
It helped to move my laptop back to my writing desk in the corner of my room. When I am very tired, I need solitude. Quiet. A place I don’t have to press against time or respond with information. Or even remember names if I don’t want to.
Silence — well, the low hum of airplanes overhead and muffled neighborhood sounds — and some wind whooshing up the trees in back — it is humanly quiet now. Ahh. I can soak in quiet like a deep breath.
River Brown 
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