a beautiful, little fool

I wake up at 1:15 in the afternoon. I’m in my white wool cardigan, lavender sleep shorts and fuzzy white socks. I’ve muted all notifications, which, if you know me - is a concerning sign but one that should probably be done a lot more.

It is hard to get out of bed. And I debate on staying in it until I begin to work at 4 pm. I put on an affirmations track and quickly turn it off. I think forcing something is the root of all evil, so I open my notes app instead. I will document this moment and these feelings, because it’s the only thing I know how to do.

I close my eyes again, and use a tool that my therapist taught me. Pretend you’re that little girl. I close my eyes and hope to dream of her. I put my arms around that 5 year old girl with dark brown hair and crooked glasses, and tell her that I’m sorry. That our affirmations track can be thrown out the window today, and we will figure out something else to do besides listen to a robotic voice that’s trying to convince ourselves that we are happy. 

My 5 year old self wants nothing more than to sink into the purple sheets. She tells me this, and I believe her. 

But you know what always helps? The smell of espresso made in that yellow coffee machine. So, me and my 5 year old self decide to roll out from those purple sheets and open up the container of coffee from the fridge.

We wait for the machine to start to steam, as we peel oranges and sit in front of the wilting roses. 

I tell her that the problem is this: the highs are always so high and the lows are always so low. 

Our espresso is ready. 

And the other problem is this: the men we are attracting all seem to know each other these days. But that’s a fun problem. We start to laugh.

Cleaning up helps too. Are you tired? I ask her. No, not really. We watch people bundled up in hat and scarves and jackets walk their dogs outside the window. 

We slowly drink our coffee. Our skin’s been really good lately, I want to tell her. But I don’t think my 5 year old self cares about that yet. She just wants to be in the garden and listen to the adults gossip.

But nothing anyone ever said was that interesting, anyway. I think it was a lot of complaining. And a lot of loud voices talking for the sake of hearing themselves talk. 

You’ll learn that the louder people talk, the less important the things they say really are. 

I think espresso is good for you, I tell her. We’re slowly starting to come alive again. So I pour more into our cups, and tell her to get a glass of water so she doesn’t feel too dizzy.

We’re cold, so we move to the couch. 

“So, do you think he likes you?” She asks me.

I have to remember that I’m talking to a younger version of myself, so I think for a while before answering.

I think there are two types of men that fall in and out of our lives. The ones that fall in love with our minds, and the ones that will fall in love with our bodies. The ones that fall in love with our bodies, you won’t be sad when they go because you never cared enough to really let them know who you were. But the ones who fell in love with our minds, those are the ones who are the hardest to forget. 

I hope my 5 year old self is intellectual enough to understand this answer. She is. 

“So, which one was he?”

I don’t think you’ll be sad about it for too long, if it all. Let’s put it that way. I laugh. 

Are you starting to feel a bit better? I ask her as our bare legs warm up under the wool blanket. She nods. 

It’s the espresso. It’s always the espresso. 

I touch the scar at the back of my head, and touch the small bump on the back of hers. 

I want to tell her something else. 

“Don’t worry - mom will take you on a shopping spree after.” She looks confused. There’s butterflies all over her t-shirt.

Our best friend messages us. The only notification I allow myself to answer. I read the message out loud - “I feel like the egg yolk that someone accidentally dropped on the kitchen floor.” I start to laugh. “You and your best friend have the same gut, you both decided this last night.”

I want to ask my 5 year old self for advice. Should we give our hearts away as easily as we do? I don’t think some people deserve the love you give them, I want to tell her. I try not to be negative with my 5 year old self, but I want to be honest.

My 5 year old self is smart. Our espresso is finished. “Can I tell you something else?” My poor 5 year old self doesn’t have a choice but to still listen to me. “I think there are people out there who only want you to be as happy as they are. And you know how you’ll know? When you tell them the good stuff.”

My 5 year old self smiles. It’s an interesting smile, because it’s a toothy grin that’s full of 5 year old innocence, bliss, and joy. But it’s also a smile that knows a lot more than someone would expect for her age. 

A double edged sword, I want to tell her. 

It makes me sad that our coffee is done. 

“I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”