Grown Up Baby Talk

The beginning of the week means the ripping of the frags. As you can see from the first frag, I ripped with abandon and produced a frag and a frag of a frag. Spacious was rent. That’s the past tense of rend, not the cost of lodging. I created some extra space for Spacious.

On the backside of Spacious was Grounded, which was also rent. Grounded is a popular term in wellness circles. It has become a bit overused in my opinion. In the way the word awesome has lost its relevance due to overuse and no longer denotes things which fill us with awe, grounded has its magic similarly siphoned away by casually slipping it into every conversation because we’ve grown lazy with our words. I concede that our laziness can still be well-intentioned but I am still dismayed when magic words lose their magic because we aren’t good stewards of them.

I was more careful with the extra journal page. I got myself grounded in advance of the tear. I focused first, slowed my roll, directed my concentration. I was aligned with Aligned. I did not rend the frag aside from its alignment; its planned perforated line which beckons rend me here but only here. Break me off a piece of that practice.

Behind Aligned was Harmonious. Of all the frags (the four of them) produced by the week’s planning, this feels most like the directive of the week. I say this because the atmosphere last week was not harmonious. Not aligned. Not particularly grounded either. Friday was an escape. Now it’s Monday and I have to go back to a space I left in discord. The Universe suggests I re-establish Harmony. Adjust, align, ground, clear space. Allow harmony. Be conducive to harmony. Facilitate harmony.

And I do not want to. I don’t wanna. It’s true.

I’m all about wellness and I’ve stated I want to help make the world well but my truth is showing. Sometimes it’s a grind to nurse emotional babies and I just want to get up like a mama cat who’s had enough and shake the kittens off my tired teats. Sometimes I grow weary of being suckled and I want people who are older than me to grow up and start feeding themselves. But I asked for this. I said I wanted this. I chose it.

For the last six months I have said Good Morning. In response to Good Morning I am asked, “How are you today, Mercy?” Every single day I answer the same way, “I am divine.” Every day for six months I have given the same answer. It irritates me that I have to face the same question every morning when I’ve given the same answer every day for six months. Last week I avoided the question and it made people sullen. I changed my routine so I wouldn’t be asked and people were disconcerted. They wanted to know what was wrong with me. Nothing. I want the conversation to evolve. They just want their milk.

What shall I say today to be more harmonious? Should I just play along or should I try to redirect the conversation?

“You know how I am.”

“You already know the answer to that question.”

Sounds bitchy.

Perhaps I should tell the truth.

“I am evolving.”

I am conscious? I am lucid? I am cognizant?

I am upright? I am responsive? I am caffeinated?

No one ever notices that I don’t return the question. It’s not that I don’t care how people are; it’s that I already know what they are going to say.

I’m fine. I’m good. I’m hanging in there. I can’t complain. I’m here.

Small talk. Baby talk. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just ritual filler. But if we don’t play out this social charade we are being rude. Now that would be a truthful answer, no?

“How are you, Mercy?”

“I am rude.”

I’ve already picked out my outfit for today, perhaps I’ll use it to break up the mindlessness.

“How are you, Mercy?”

“I am floral.”

“I am embroidered.”

I’ll let you know how it goes.

— Mercy



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