I drove to Oxnard on Tuesday afternoon and spent a couple nights with a friend. I worked during the day, periodically stopping to chat with her, catching up on all we've been doing and experiencing since the last time we were together. I also slept in, meaning no 4:00 in the morning seizure checks and 6:00 in the morning wake-ups. I didn't have to dole out any medicine or break up any boy fights, either. I needed the break. We all need breaks, and some of us have few, if any. Mothering and particularly caregiving (I do both and know the distinction) can be overwhelming in their demands, and while it might be a cliche to emphasize how much my identity is wrapped into those demands, I do retain a thread of self, and that thread is pretty tough. At worst, it's attached to a balloon, but it doesn't break. It floats around, sometimes out of reach until I tug it. I am thinking these days that the thread needs to be more of a spool. This is a clumsy metaphor. I'm still thinking.
Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear. So is sanity. And insanity.
