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I have to go to the dentist for my dying tooth. The pain is now constant, reminding me I am alive. They will tell me I need surgery. There will be three separate appointments. It will be expensive, even with insurance. I have to go to the dentist, but there’s a sleeping baby in my arms.
I have to get the flat tire fixed. The tire popped on Wednesday. I don’t know when or how, but I know I was overwhelmed with anxiety. Until a couple of years ago, I drove a 2000 Honda Civic that had all kinds of problems. Like Chinua Achebe said, something was always falling apart. Then, when we moved, it was stolen…from our driveway. We got it back, finally bought a new car, though we needed two now, for commuting. Then it was stolen again. That was it. Donated to the car gods. After this flat tire, I realized my car-related PTSD from the old Civic was severe. I’d go get the flat tire fixed, but there’s a baby sleeping in my arms.
Keep the pot stirred. I asked the baby if she would sleep peacefully on her own for an hour, so I can shower and do some editing. No response.
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I have to edit the poems. I’ve been writing these poems about this baby, the one sleeping on my lap. I have about forty poems now. Time to start sifting through them. I want to edit them while I still have momentum and they still feel fresh. Keep the pot stirred. I asked the baby if she would sleep peacefully on her own for an hour, so I can shower and do some editing. No response.
I have to read those articles I’ve kept open on my browser tab for the last month. They seemed necessary and thought-provoking at the time. Those articles will definitely change my life, add some perspective, and help feed my brain, like Ice Cube said in Higher Learning. I need to read those articles. Then, I’ll finally figure out what happened last November and what kind of country I live in. I might even be able to finish the article while this baby sleeps in my arms.
I have to check Facebook and Twitter. There are so many old high school acquaintances who have posted earth-shattering thoughts. So many people I used to know who live elsewhere and are busy promoting their social life on that advertising company that may soon have to actually tell people what’s real and what isn’t. On Twitter, there are so many clever responses to plow through. So many links to more articles I can keep open in the browser. I could even do that while this baby sleeps in my arms. I could even post a picture of this baby and the world would likely respond that they love babies.
I have to get some sleep. It’s the end of a long week of having this baby in my arms, feeding this baby her bottle, changing this baby’s diapers, with occasionally disastrous poops, dancing around and singing to this fast-growing, taller-than-average, sweet-smiling, curious baby, whose vocalizations are starting to get as wacky as mine. Also, teaching night class. I’m exhausted. I should get some sleep, but there’s a baby sleeping in my arms.
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I know this feeling well. Good post.