The Center”Peace”. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
unboxing boneless comfort shares significance with an unnamed peace that has settled within me.
what do I call it? how do I explain the change that is growing inside my heart? it feels like honeyed joy and chocolate contentment.
I can taste the newness of self as the pain fades.
am I finally different in the way I have dreamed to be? or is it perimenopause playing tricks on me?
whatever this is, I’ll drown my woes and bury my fears here.
I am different when these cushions palm my back.
Originally published on Substack Notes: *I purchased a boneless sectional sofa recently, and the comfort that comes with this piece of furniture is on a whole new level of “Yes, Gawd!” It’s still the simple things for me.
How a mobile game keeps me alive and wired enough to survive the monotony of most days.
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I’m not a gamer, or am I?
I have a thing for patterns, dangling participles, music that massages my brain, Women of Color with gaps between their two front teeth, and dimples in their cheeks (both sets). And, I make no apologies for any of it. So… it is a rare thing to find me a victim of what most of the younger generations fear—boredom.
Usually, I am equipped to handle it with fictional characters that argue in my head, threatening me for an escape—I provide it for them. Other times, I am escaping through the words of another—a favorite author, lyricist, comedian/enne, or one of my young neighbors/friends.
Suffice it to say, of late, I have been battling boredom, and I think it has managed to gain quite the hold on me. However, upon finding the mobile game Arrow Out (I am not advertising this game; I am simply sharing what a momentary cure for me is), I am soothing what appears to be monotony burnout.
Work is ritualistic. I clock in, put out fires, assist others, make our patients laugh, eat lunch, confirm nearly 100 appointments for the next day, then clock out. What has been satisfying for over two decades for me is slowly losing its spark. I count the hours like I honor every breath I take. When 4:30 PM greets me, I race for the door—eager to see the inside of my home again.
Patterns are my kink—reel me in, wind me up, and push me down. I live for the challenge.
What I have found by playing this game (along with a few others, Solitaire Revelry and Vita Mahjong are runner-ups) is how active my brain is, but when I am focused on any of the above-mentioned, I am calmer. I am at ease. I do not feel pressure on my chest or ringing in my ears. I am tasked with challenges, and my focus is altered to meet or exceed them. Plainly put, I am soothing what my brain has been fighting—absolute boredom, and initially, I did not recognize it.
When I find it hard to roll over from the comfort of one position in my bed to ready myself for an exit away from it, I remind myself that on my lunch break, I can go for a walk or play a couple rounds of one of these mobile games. Walking while listening to music is a life-saver, hands down. Now that I have added stimulating the mind with mobile games, I am sure to defeat boredom.
I don’t want to find myself attached to it—clinging to something that has no intention of saving me from myself. I’ve also noticed that once I’ve cleared a round or several tasks/challenges within the games, I feel more creative. I want to write. I want to read. I want to climb out of the pits I’ve been wading in for months.
And for these facts alone, I am appreciative. What I worry about with these new methods of ridding myself of boredom is… addiction. Am I strong enough to maintain a normal balance with them so as not to let them take over?
We’ll see, won’t we?
Don’t threaten me with a good mobile game time.
I am bound to accept that threat and raise you a higher one—what strength looks like when it’s balanced and groomed to handle battles upon battles and everlasting wars. This world is a dumpster fire laid atop burning coals in the middle of a regularly erupting volcano.
Finding peace within it has been hard, so I’ll take every outlet that I can get. Managing stress, maintaining focus, ridding myself of unattractive habits, and staying afloat when drowning seems all too easy to do is the playground where I currently reside—it is the lifeline.
If you’re searching for me, I’ve probably got my head in a book, a notebook, or bent over my mobile phone.
making moves toward passion and fulfillment for work… it’s fearful and challenging, but I know my heart will be healthier and happier away from the robotic everydayness my life has become.
to give my gifts to willing users for growth inspires me to seek literary comfort among young minds again.
it’s my home away from home and miles away from the dreaded routine of grinding to line the hefty pockets of groany men who don’t even know my name.
when I was still learning myself, I knew a boy who lost his right leg on the railroad tracks closest to our duplex on the east side of Savannah, GA.
if you were to ask me his name, I couldn’t tell you. Bobby, James, Eric, or Brian, who knows?!, but what I do know for certain is—a nearly legless boy was just as active as the others on my block.
he had a massive head of unruly curls, a gap-toothed smile, and rosy cheeks. light as my palms and sweet as summer honey, I’d been sweet on him, too.
my neighbor, Mrs. Jones, kept her eyes on me. I had a much older cousin who lived at the end of our block, and she hawk-eyed me, too. my mom’s people were serious about me… first grandchild, first great-grand, first girl-child of teenagers who thought playing kissing cousins had been real love.
I, a product of popcorn love skipping down the block, landing eyes on the boy as light as my palms, but still Black as the day is long, wouldn’t be caught dead on the tracks that took his leg.
even I, at the age of nine, knew how dangerous wooden planks, old screws, unguarded rails, and Amtrak was… and I stayed on the right side of them… forever cautious of keeping both my legs.
Don’t think you’ll always have time to reach out or respond to someone. Life is short. Time is shorter. Moments become memories. Make the best of them.
“Time and tide wait for no man.” —Geoffrey Chaucer.
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