recipe for a better day

Lauren Sharpe
2 min readOct 9, 2020

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have an absolutely terrible, knock-down, drag-out prior day.

a day that made you scream the kind of scream that makes the air around you and the children get thin, makes your ears ring, like in the movie when the explosion goes off and there’s just this high-pitched string of sound carrying the action.
let your eyes recover from the stinging.
feel the shame, wearing you.

have that day and then have today.

make a plan to travel.
let him do the writing work for school.
let him do the anger for a minute.
let him leave to buy work pants.
make that plan to travel somewhere, anywhere.
trust your parental pedogogy.
watch the teachers’ patience and clarity in the face of disorganization,
of piles of school supplies, of uncertainty.
text women in Georgia the celebratory party confetti emoji when they tell you that they are dropping their ballot off today on their way to their appointment. let their thank you
be the thank you
your own children can’t access yet.

feel the vibrations of I’m speaking.
feel the utter folly of a fly upending the proceedings of what’s meant to be serious. what is serious. seriously.

(side note: if you love me at all or ever or even a little bit and read these words and vote for this person again, please just let me know by winking both eyes hard when next we meet and i will know and you will know and don’t try to talk to or hug my children either, they will see right through you and your terrible choices that ripple out and affect you and me and your neighbors, too, and you, yes you. seriously.)

make that plan to go somewhere, anywhere
and decide to go there and dream about it.
work on something that feels exciting, even for one hour.
even for three minutes so you can feel
the imprint of your former self which is, of course,
still there, holding its shape.
bring the children outside, give them the damn cookies and let them run away from you. leave them there with your brother-in-law. walk by yourself to a meeting where they recognize you instantly as you.

time to drain the bath.

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Lauren Sharpe
Lauren Sharpe

Written by Lauren Sharpe

brooklyn, ny — theater maker/feels taker/educator/learner she/her/hers

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