Home Run

            My last post was about writing every day and that was two days ago.  I decided not to make it three.  I have stomach flu and all I want to do is feel better.  Now.  My cat would like me to get this laptop off my lap to make space for her, and I’d really like to do that too.  Part of me would.
            The other part of me would love to crank up this mush brain and write something brilliant and moving and life-affirming.  Not just swing at the ball and feel good about the swinging, but actually connect and hit a home run.  Crack.  Hit the sweet spot.  That home run monger we can call Chloe.
            Chloe doesn’t think much of the other me, the one who wants to cuddle her cat all day and not worry about it.  Chloe doesn’t care if I’m sick, or having a bad day.  She just wants to win.  Tell whatever story she can to make me keep going.  She can be helpful, to a point, but when I let her win then who is the loser?
            The loser part of me, let’s call her Jenna, needs connection and love and caretaking.  Would Jenna really stay in bed all day?  For sure when she’s sick.  But would it be all year or a lifetime or whatever the fear is?  I don’t know.  Chloe says yes.  If she stops the beatings then the sum total of my life’s work will be a well-loved cat.  Jenna says, “How will you know if you don’t give it a try?  Relax and see what happens.” 

            I’d probably feel better if my inner Chloe and inner Jenna figured out how to get along with each other more and to trust each other more.  It would be nice for them to co-exist instead of trying to kill each other.  I’m going to meditate on that while I snuggle my cat today.  And I’ll breathe in and out at the same time.  I'm calling this game, this life.  Home run.