Directing the Flow

“You’ve got to learn to just go with the flow,” he told me.

And I found myself speechless and sputtering, mid-stream-of-consciousness-speaking on the other end of the phone. That’s how I catch myself talking on almost a daily basis, because this is what my day is like:

Wake up, feed the animals, make the coffee, where's my iPod?, where's my bra?, walk the dog, wake the boy, feed the boy, kiss the boy, grab the coffee, check the email I can’t check at work, shower, take my first phone call of the day half in the shower, rinse the soap out of my eyes, shake the water out of my ears, dry off, get dressed, get more coffee, put on make-up, that’s the phone again, finish putting on make-up, blow dry the hair, let the cat in, pat the cat, pat the dog, pour what’s left of the coffee into a travel mug, find my cell phone, find my other cell phone, where are my keys?, start the car, why am I the only person in this city who can drive?, sing along with the radio, is that the phone?, get to work ten minutes late, walk through the door still talking on the phone, shut the phone, answer questions, grab a stack of messages, log in, pour my coffee from my travel mug into my work coffee mug, add more coffee, add more cream, check my email, spend the next hour answering emails, how did my coffee get cold?, is that a text?, answer the text, answer the phone, why is there no coffee?, who’s on the phone?, who’s waiting to see me?, how is it already ten-thirty? Fuck.


Look. I hear what you’re saying, Buddy, but it is simply not possible for a single parent to “go with the flow.” It just doesn’t happen. We direct the flow, Baby. We’re control freaks, because, if we weren’t, nothing would get done.

But, I wonder, sometimes, when I’m just so tired of being in charge all the time, what it would be like to just go with the flow. What if I didn’t have to do EVERYTHING? What if I let someone take care of me for a change? (I mean, someone besides the co-worker who brings me half his order of French fries everyday at lunch to make sure I eat something because I’m inexplicably too busy to be hungry.) Could I do that? Is it okay to want that?

You know, I do just fine, thank you very much, for a month or two. Then it hits me. That it’s all too much. And I feel weak, and I hate when I'm weak. But I want, desperately, just to sit and be still with someone who will let me just sit and be still, someone who will listen and understand, or not listen and understand.

So I go see a friend, and I lay my head down on a shoulder. Sometimes, I say, “I’ve had just an awful month,” or sometimes, I say nothing at all. And for an hour or two, I go with the flow. And my friend tells me, "You're going to be just fine." And it’s okay.



Josh called tonight. He's still seeing doctors. I'm still too scared to say I'm scared. I'll wait until he's okay to tell him.

I changed the subject before I change my mind.

I asked, and he told me about his girlfriend. He told me what she wants. He told me what he wants. He told me he doesn't like that what they want's not exactly the same.

I told him to not think so much or to hold on so tight to what he thinks he wants. I told him that life usually has other plans for us than the ones we make for ourselves. And then I apologized for telling him what I think he should do.

I want to tell him to listen to his girl when she says, "let's see." I want to tell him she's right when she says "we" when she talks about "them" and uses the word "our" right before she says "future". I want to tell him to let go of this picture he has in his head of what it was, of what it will be, of what it's supposed to look like and to just let it happen.

I want to tell him to just go with the flow.

But, instead, I say, "I understand."

And I say, "It's all gonna work out."

And I say, "Good night."