It's looking at the hard copy manuscript thinkin to myself: 'damn that chapter is gonna be the hard one to clean up,' and not having the motivation to start the job.
It's standing in front of my pantry looking for some kind of unprocessed food to eat, and finding nothing quite adequate, but settling for ramen and cooking it on the stove and adding green onions just to make it seem better.
It's sitting on my bed because I have nowhere else to be, looking at the way the light hits the sheets I put on last night at 4 in the morning, and reminding myself to pick my sheets from the linen closet when I can actually see what I'm picking out.
It's stealing whatever sunshine I can get between the frequent rains, because swimming isn't much fun alone, and neither is soccer in the backyard or drinking green tea on the back porch.
It's singing any song that comes to mind, because if I was just talking out loud it would seem a little insane. The fact that it's a song somehow makes it better.
It's doing laundry even though I only have half a load because my favorite shirt is dirty and I'd like to wear it again as soon as I can. And because I can't find any socks and I'm sure there's some in that dirty pile.
It's sitting in front of my piano for longer than is probably healthy, memorizing chord progressions because it's easy and playing anything and nothing at all because...well, that's easy too.
I's feeding the fish even though I know mama fed them just a few hours ago before she left, and not really caring if they bother to eat it.
It's standing in front of my impossibly cute polar bear calendar, lifting up the pages and looking at the days, and seeing BLANK SQUARES EVERYWHERE.
It's going through all my folders and notebooks, throwing away everything that I don't need to look back on anymore and leaving trash bags full of that stuff for my brother to take out when he gets home.
It's a distinct sense of uncertainty.
It's the flavor of sudden autonomy.
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