(nablopomo #30) noticing the mist

Good morning good morning — I’m beginning this morning’s write from the BART station. I got to have this morning in Berkeley’s thick mist. Do I have to call it fog? When the sun shine through, I could see the individual drops of atmosphere I was walking into, and I just felt glad, grateful. Grateful for these legs, eyes, the possibility of ambulation — grateful for the thin green moss on all the trees, making them look like paintings of themselves.

I’m thinking more about hands this morning, as I feel the sharp pain now and again as I type this with my thumbs into a tiny machine. I pass communal gardens, feel the dirt, humus, leaf mould, wiggling nightcrawlers around my fingers, imagine the smell, want that possibility, capacity again. I’ve been remembering a time, from Before, when my hands were always active–we played sports, instruments, our parents signed us up for crafts classes; it was important for our hands to know how to do things. In the After, I had silicone, plastic–the computer–and of course, his body. That’s what my hands were good for then.

My therapist asks me how I get my hands back. This, I think, is a good question. How do we get our hands back, get back the parts of our bodies made not ours during extensive trauma or torture? I indicate my notebook, when he asks: this, I say this is how I’ve done it. Writing.

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There’s no service at this BARt station, so I can’t go look and tell you today’s nablopomo prompt. Today’s the last day of November, the last day of NaNoWriMo, the last day of NaWriWhoMo. :) How has the month of all-writing-all-the-time treated you? Do you feel more connected to writing practice? Have you found rhythms or routines that you can bring forward into the rest of the year, clearing ongoing space for your writing, your necessary creative work?

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My hand doesn’t hurt when I’m free writing in the notebook; I’m paying attention to these things. This morning I did the most amazing thing–can I tell you? After writing in the notebook for awhile, I made my breakfast (oatmeal, chopped almonds, chopped apple & plain Greek yogurt, all jumbled together in a hand thrown pottery bowl) and then –wait, this is the amazing part. Are you listening?

I sat down at the table and ate it.

Even though I had to go to the day job today. Even though there’s no time. I ate breakfast at a table, in home-space, rather that in front of a computer screen after I get to work.

It was a little bit of a revelation–and the only reason it happened is that I couldn’t fund the tupperware drawer at the place I’m staying for a couple of days. So my option–revelation–was just to eat the breakfast, right there. And look: everything’s ok. I’m still going to get to work on time. And I didn’t wait for 4 or 5 hours after getting up before I got some food into my belly.

This may seem like a very little thing. It is a very little thing. And consequential, nonetheless.

What small small thing are you or your character about to do to take care of your/themselves a little bit better? That could be a short wrote for today. Or, look, now there’s some service: the nablopomo prompt is What did you learn from doing NaBloPoMo? (or any of the Nov writing challenges)

Gonna go ahead and post this now. Thanks for your gentle ferocity, and always, for your words.

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