So, I was sitting on the front steps, surrounded by a riot of cosmos, calendula and sunflowers. A trio of white butterflies played tag through the mistiest of sun-showers.
And I sat there wondering: Did my boss’s boss notice that I put a surplus apostrophe in an email last week? Will I have to go shopping again on Wednesday? What is my current uni debt? How many students will come to my class at 8am on Monday? Do I have enough clean socks?
How many times do I wish to be home among the flowers and the butterflies!
And here I am. In paradise, and dwelling in imaginary dramas.
“I tend to remember past dramas on days that lack any.”
My hand is stiff and clammy from gripping the phone. I take a deep breath & I wonder, ‘what is like to be her?’
2. being or involving an altered state of consciousness.
That afternoon, sitting on the front step beside an empty tab of Panadeine Forte & the dregs of a beer I feel the gut punch of her rage, loneliness, & fear. From miles & years away I hear her voice, quiet and calm like I have never known her to be: I do the best I can Rowy. That’s all I can do.