Drinking Words

THEN: A regular day. After five. The kids are flirting with their food, not eating much. I am riding waves from the day, mulling over threadbare chapters, editing posts in my head. Someone is crying. Someone is asking for a candy. Someone is asking for a show. There are toys everywhere. A rainbow reminder of what life is now. I trip on them. I feel something. A tightening of the chest, a flurry of questions, a surge of ideas. But I can't write now. I shouldn't want to write now. I should pick them up and twirl them around and tickle them to the couch. I should sing something: How was your day? You are such a good girl! Mommy loves you! I sing these things. My voice is mine, but not entirely. I walk to the fridge. I swing open the door. I pull the bottle. Uncork it. I pour a glass. A big one. I drink it down. Things are better, smoother, softer, more beautiful. The whines are melodic, the toys symbolic of something gritty and grand, the chapters I didn't finish mere details. Specks on the canvas.

NOW: A regular day. After five. The kids are flirting with their food, not eating much. I am riding waves from the day, mulling over threadbare chapters, editing posts in my head. Someone is crying. Someone is asking for a candy. Someone is asking for a show. There are toys everywhere. A rainbow reminder of what life is now. I trip on them. I feel something. A tightening of the chest, a flurry of questions, a surge of ideas. But I can't write now. I shouldn't want to write now. I should pick them up and twirl them around and tickle them to the couch. I should sing something: How was your day? You are such a good girl! Mommy loves you! I sing these things. I get a glass of water. I sip it. It tastes like nothing. Nothing can be delicious. I open a book and read a few words. I open my computer and write a few words. I wrangle my girls into a tiny circle and say a few words. Remember when. Imagine this. Can you believe. I am proud of you. Life is life. The voice is mine. Entirely.

WHEN: A regular day. After five... I walk to the fridge. I pour a glass of wine. I take a sip. I put it down. I read some words. I write some. I sing some. I say some. And they say words too, many of them, rising up, floating between us. Words about today, words about tomorrow, words about homework, words about heartwork, words about whatever. We set the table. Plates. Napkins. Forks. Knives. Daddy is home. We sit together. We sip. Words. Water. Wine. We are living. We are loving. We are learning. And we are talking, listening, dealing, dreaming, words weaving in that invisible and exquisite space, over the plates we pick from.

Words.

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Words. They are this year's wine. I sip them and swig them. I slurp them. I spill them. They make me feel, and see, and imagine, and dream. They make me alert and aware and alive. They are my dots, scattered about me, toys on the floor, connecting themselves on the canvas, tripping me up.

Words. They arrive all day long, lining up, waiting to be plucked, placed. They whisper and whirl, they tangle and twirl.

Words. They have no calories. They are free. They are me.

They do not make my head hurt. Well, they do. But in a good way. The best way. Life is life. And I will read about it and write about it and talk about it instead of escaping it.

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Thank you all for your wonderful words yesterday. Your support and stories mean the world. The world.

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For other Five for Five musings on WORDS, please click here to visit the lovely sisters at Momalom. I am also thrilled to be linking up with other JUST WRITE participants over at The Extraordinary Ordinary. Leave a comment here before 11pm EST for a chance to win Danielle LaPorte's FIRE STARTER SESSIONS. Congrats to Heidi for winning yesterday's copy!

What role do words play in your life? Do you think it is possible to replace our vices with words - thought, written, spoken? What does the 5pm hour look like in your home? Why do you drink?