I talk to myself too much, more so lately.
The boy told me the other day: Dad, you say "fuck" too much.
I promised him that I didn't want to say that word too much.
Then yesterday, I was muttering to myself and every few minutes the boy would notice that I had just whispered the sacred incantation to myself again.
It was funny and maddening, this comic and yet real need to change - want, not need. I posted a notice on the cabinet where I make coffee and tea, a reminder. I took a snapshot of it and made it my desktop on my phone. All day today I have been wanting to whisper the word, to make sure that it's still waiting there for me when something within my breath summons it from the depths.
.
