snapshot

living in the moment is a big thing they focus on in cognitive behavioral therapy. try to teach yourself to strip away from all your thoughts and feelings and simply use your senses to interpret your surroundings. it helps ground you and put things into perspective.

I tried it this evening and it evolved into this entire life reflection of some sort. 

I missed my moment of zen while trying to relax in a nice hot Epsom salt bath I had drawn for myself.  managed to stop focusing on what was going on physically as I sweat my ass off in the tub. I started remembering snapshots or little blips in time that had somehow had so much importance to me that they are still engrained in my brain--only to come out during a deep intense moment of focus for myself. 

for 20 minutes I remembered some of the most mundane and most important parts of my life and thought of how my 5 senses interpreted those events.

then I was so exhausted I crawled out of the tub. threw on 3 layers of clothes to continue to sweat and climbed downstairs to grab my Bluetooth headphones and listen to some nice reflective music. my bloody valentine. 

those moments were some of the most intense feelings I have felt in a long time and naturally I had the desire to put some of them on paper. or Internet or however you interpret this blog I write on.

I don't know the answers yet, it seems like some puzzle or mystery.  but something felt that deep within those snapshots in time that they  need to be shared.  maybe not for your entertainment but for my own sanity.

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it's a sunny hot July afternoon and I'm dressed in some white, green and blue dress my gran had bought me at this store called country outfitters or something like it.  I'm young and tan and only have on a coat of clear mascara and lipgloss.  my hair curled with hot rollers and pinned back with a chunky headband.  I'm walking out of a room and my grandfather has his arm draped around my shoulder.  holding me as close as he can and still keep our ability to move forward.  I come closer to the door and I have a giant wad of tissues scrunched up in my right hand.

my grandfather leans down and asks if I want to turn around and see my father for the last time.  I stare down at my green sandals and blue toenails and firmly say no.  I cross the threshold and enter out onto the hot pavement of a parking lot.  the sun is blinding I feel as if I've entered another realm.  I take a deep breath realizing I will never see my dad's body in person again. 

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I'm carrying a green bag and walking through the busy streets of the harajuku district of Tokyo.  I stop and take a smoke at a small shaded area near a roadway and crosswalk.  I see a bridge and imagine it's probably the oldest thing I've ever seen.  I finish my smoke and put it out in the respectable container.  I pull my green bag close and walk across the crosswalk onto the bridge, I feel a strange warmth radiating out of my bag and realize I still have a hot can off nescafe coffee loaded on my side pouch.

I stop and decide I want to eat.  the sun is shining, and it's a brisk and crisp spring morning.  I look down at my grey and pink kangaroo shoes and stare at my feet planted firmly on the ground. I grow dizzy with the idea that my shoes were once in a place much farther away, but in a few hours they managed to be planted firmly on foreign soil.

I pull out my coffee and a pack of melon bread I bought at a local 7/11 I see the crusted sugar on top of the neatly baked bread and take a bite.  I drink the canned coffee and try to center myself. I feel like a small speck of dust on a very large table.  I feel insignificant because such a simple moment as eating bread in a foreign country seems so mind-blowing.  I feel like I'm the only one who knows this secret--of how small we really are.  my boyfriend pulls out a camera and takes a picture.  

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I'm tired. my legs don't respond when I try to move them.  I'm sitting in a nice hospital room and my mom and the doctor are talking about duck dynasty.  the lights are low, and trin is standing above me.  he seems like a giant towering over me and he has a look of concern but he's still trying to smile.  I'm pushing this creature out of my body.  I'm sweating but I'm cold and I worry if my right leg will ever move again. but I have to push.  I have to breathe. and I'm hungry and fucking sick of Popsicles.  I want this to be done, but I'm worried I'm going to shit myself or rip my vagina clear open.  I feel no pain. I just want to puke.  my stomach grows hard and then relaxes non-stop.  

she's out. and yes it's a she. her cord is way too short and trin has to kneel over to cut the cord. 

I can't see anything. my large stomach blocking the view. and then finally I'm handed this goopy little girl.  she's covered in white stuff and breathing. i make sure she's still breathing.

I am scared. I am in love but worried I will never have the ability to take care of such a beautiful thing. I start to panic that maybe I should have read more baby books.  she starts crying and the lactation specialist awkwardly tries to teach me to breastfeed.

I see trin calmly take the little child.  he's well versed and in control of the situation.  I realize I made a good choice and my anxiety subsides.  i am a mother who has no idea what she is doing.

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there are more, but I'm afraid of including all of these details snippets of time might be a little too much of a read and might make me even more mentally exhausted. 

but I look at these moments and try to find insight, try to piece them together of why I am the way that I am. 

maybe these are some long lost fragments that add up to my being? but then again maybe they aren't and I was just too hot in the bathtub.