“I want to talk to you,” my mom said.
“Have you thought about when you might
get back to a more regular life?”
She means well, but the conversation
makes me want to scream, because
what the fuck does ‘normal’ even mean?
Work yourself to death?
Run yourself into the ground?
Give up all your time and energy to barely scrape by?
Why is this what’s normal?
What about joy and bliss?
Creativity and rest?
No. No, I am definitely not ready yet.
It may cause her some concern, but I offer an honest answer
and simply say, “Hopefully never.”
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