(dis)regard

In a dream, someone I loved was cruel to me and I woke with my heart racing, feeling as devastated and sad as I likely would have, had it happened. I am thinking about that blurred liminal space between what is real and imagined. How we create our own realities, embody them.

I wrote this morning. A few mornings in a row of writing well, or at least writing in a focused way, lifts the spirits. But now, there is an accident on the highway. I hear the distinctive sounds of metal scraping and folding on itself, then the sirens. I see the brake lights glowing red, but the crash itself is just beyond where I can see.

It's been a long week in a long month in a very long year. The lengthening days are good, the light. Long walks in the warming air, the faint traces of early blooms, upturned earth, the last of winter's leaves gathered up. But the sense of grief and worry is pervasive. The outside world has come to seem, for many reasons, more hostile, unpredictable, dangerous.

One of my students shares a heart-stopping essay about a childhood trauma. Her insight, compassion, and empathy toward the adult perpetrators is astonishing in its generosity. I think of her now, how wearying and how painful it is to live with the knowledge that those whose job it is to protect the most vulnerable can not only fail, but enact horrific cruelties, with such irrevocable and lasting consequences. I think of all the words that get thrown around in situations like this, words that I too am reaching for -- to say that she is strong or resilient. How her story is inspiring or brave. She is, and it is, but it is also true that the words fall so unforgivably short.

I receive a letter in the mail from a lawyer whose name I do not recognize. This office, the letter states, is representing someone who claims to have suffered injuries and incurred expenses related to a car accident that I was involved in. I know it is in error, I have not been in any car accident, but it's unsettling nonetheless. Maybe I've watched too many court procedurals, but it seems entirely possible that what is a mistake could spiral out into a protracted and frustrating battle of phone calls and emails and possible court appearances. I make some phone calls. Leave some voicemail messages. A few hours later, it seems to have been resolved. "So I can disregard this letter?" I ask again before I hang up and when she says "Yes, you can disregard it," I note the date and time of the call, and file the letter away.