Illusions

A phrase keeps repeating in my head, this is all an illusion. Yesterday, my phone rang and rang. My head banged and banged. I read thousands of records. I sent emails and I made my own calls.

Does any of this really matter? I mean it does as far as work. I have a calendar and cases for trial to prep. But sometimes, I think we get caught up in the minutaie. In a week, will I remember everything I did? Or will it all blend together and melt in my mind like ice cream in a bowl? Maybe Facebook is a way we remind ourselves? The minutiae becomes pictures, memes or text.

Last night, after my rough day, I sat on the couch eating cereal and watching The Great British Baking Show. My dog Frodo knew. He wouldn’t leave my side and somehow his presence made it all OK. Just his breath. His heat next to me. The rhythm of his panting and beating heart. It sustained me.

Is that what having a child is like? Being distracted by love and from mid life musings by carefree and joyful youth? I wouldn’t know. I’ve given up that dream and many others. But some still remain. My book, my writing. The need to memorialize it all.

To show we were here. I was here. Life is not an illusion if something tangible is the result. The book on your coffee table is someone’s lifeblood. All those stacks at the library mean something. Don’t they?