• Rebecca Lerner


When the world is your house, things can seem so much bigger than they are. I wish I was speaking literally. I wish that there was some Alice in Wonderland shit happening, that chairs and doorways and shoes were growing and shrinking and we were fully down the rabbit hole.

Safely, of course. Thriving in controlled chaos.

Communication and ideas now feel so extra and heavy. How a slack message that would have been nothing in the same open space office feels like the ultimate slight, how an errant compliment can set off a whole afternoon of insatiable daydreams.

I'm thinking about sensitivity — emotional, spiritual, oral. I'm thinking about spring and rebirth and who we become when confronted with something new. I'm thinking about the ways I remember how we can be together when we're apart.

My family has taken to jokingly calling me "unforgiving" when I call them out for leaving dishes in the sink or ask them to stop saying, "Remember when that was what it was like?" during shows where people are not social distancing. I want to say that I am constantly forgiving, it's just not the kind that draws attention to itself and it absolutely won't save you.

But they're right. I am not abundant in patience.

In another life, I am. I let things slide by, I smile when people say rude shit to me, I'm never jealous and I know how to do pottery. I don't stay awake fantasizing about chewing out people who have wronged me or the people I love. I sleep so easily and I get up naturally at 7 am. I am never hungover.

In this life, I am not abundant in patience except when I am. I will sit with you as you cry, I'll listen to you talk about your relationship with your mom until we get kicked out of the coffee shop, I will lay with you stroking your back as you stutter when you read your words to me. There will always be exceptions to the rules we make for ourselves.

^This is me trying to be nice to myself. Just hope the bitch appreciates it.


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