Too many elephants, not enough room

It’s been a while since I’ve felt like writing. Here or anywhere.

There are so many things I can’t talk about. Things that aren’t mine to tell. Things that are mine to tell but are too dull to be worth writing about or that I just don’t want to share. So many elephants, sometimes it feels like there’s no room for anything else.

The things I can talk about feel small in comparison and slightly hollow, almost dishonest. The elephants are there. I can feel them looming over me even as I skirt around them. So it becomes easier not to talk or write at all.

Things I can talk about.

The weather – it’s perpetually hot here. Some days I sit under the fan, not even moving much but still dripping.

My thesis was a close run thing but I can add it to the list of things I’ve actually finished.

I’m flirting with veganism again. It feels good.

Some days I swim or ride my bike. I mop floors and cycle through endlessly repeating piles of washing like a domestic Hercules.

These things are mine to talk about, in small, careful, phrases, gingerly threading my way between the elephants’ feet.

Be patient with me as I work out how to move forward.




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