I’m busy, I’m always busy. I am not sure what life would look like if I wasn’t. The spaces between sometimes allow for a moment of stillness. I write of course, but writing mops up the dark voids of sleeplessness, so not sure that counts as stopping. I lurch manically from one thing to another, sometimes one begins before the other ends. It’s exhausting to watch, people say, but my White Rabbit habit is hard to break; my watch is heavy and ticking. I brush my teeth and scoop my hair up infront of a mirror but generally, do not spend much time looking at myself.
The traffic on my way home from work makes me stretch my fingers away from the wheel with irritation. I hit the buttons on the radio to escape the adverts, and think about the millions of things I have to do. I think about the walk on the beach with my dog and unconsciously look to the sky for clouds.