CW: themes of loss and places from the past

Isambard Kingdom Brunel and Thomas Telford were engineers, building British road, bridge, tunnel and rail infrastructure that is still in active use today. I used to drive over one of Telford’s bridges every day, back when I lived and worked in the UK.

I thought about it the other day and accidentally ended up looking up the place I used to work on Google Maps. It turns out that, two years after I left the UK for the USA, they merged with other companies in the area and built a state-of-the-art facility on the other side of town.

The original complex I worked in is still standing, eerily time capsuled, exactly as I remembered it. The inexplicably overengineered brown metal safety shutter covering our ground floor office window, which we used to roll up every morning. The green square tubing gate closing off the small parking lot, which...

I need a better, snappier name for this, which will come if the idea sticks, but, I keep trying to figure out how to write - I mean, really write - not in the way I do here, but with a consistent voice about a consistent topic.

They say everyone has one good book in them, and I feel like that’s one of those quotes that has a corollary forgotten over time… like “I before E, except after C” goes on to say “or when sounding like ‘ay’ as in neighbor or weigh” but we’ve forgotten that part over time. And yes, it still doesn’t cover every word borrowed from Greek, Latin, Nordic, Celtic German, Brittonic and runic languages and so forth, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make here.

As “I before E…” is more than the first stanza, so too does it feel that “but you have to wade through the awful ones first” is the missing corollary to having one good book. And it’s not that I don’t want to...

I took a flash fiction writing short course recently, coincidentally the teacher used to be my Breathwork Coach in another life, and I’ve always loved their writing. Part of the course was creating a piece of flash fiction of our very own, using the techniques we learned in the course. Presented here is that piece.

CW: Mentions of death.

Summer heat took my breath in a great sigh as I rolled out of the car to pump gas, the smell of petroleum mixing with the sound of sirens as an ambulance tore by.

Across the street, the open lot I’d remarked on to my wife so many times: “Some developer will buy that up and build a high-rise one day.”

Two years ago, the familiar chain link fence decorated in woven nylon that every construction company across America and around the world uses, sprung up around the plot of land. Today the building has a name and people live there.

I look up into the...

CW: there is a mention of loss of loved ones, which is integral to the story.

The titular metaphorical (or, perhaps, emotional) fever has broken. This time of year, really from mid-March up until now, is something of a void portal for me, and I think that concept is something that is important to talk about in a realistic and hopefully ultimately positive and grounded way.

For the backstory, my wife (we’d known each other 17 years and been married 12 of those) passed away three years ago this past April. On top of that, and almost a decade ago now, my mother passed away in early July.

The void begins to open in mid-March; that peculiar creeping sensation like liquid metal in some sci-fi horror movie, drawing all the heat and life out of my body as it climbs up from the pit of my stomach until it swallows me whole. She went into hospital at the end of March. The first two weeks of...

Early morning mist hung low between the buildings, draping everything with a thin layer of nature’s ambience. Tendrils hung over the sides of the Crossline as she moved effortlessly along it. The city had extended it several times over the years as new developments swallowed up the ground below. True ground level in much of the city was reserved for transportation and utilities these days, outside of the zone protected by the Act, with some parts accessible only by permit or a healthy disregard for your bureaucratic future.

Amy’s building sat not too far from the natural center, where the ‘Line and the Cross met. She’d already walked a couple of miles, gently sweating into her casual workout gear. The trick over the next few miles was knowing the right people, and by people, she really meant AIs.

The public Cross descended up ahead into a station for the W. Sure, you could take the...

I did something to my shoulder last week. I’m not sure exactly what, as I don’t remember any defined “oops” moment, but I had a mild neck ache over the weekend, which led into being barely able to move my left arm and dealing with constant shooting pains that made it hard to do anything. I couldn’t sit or stand, there wasn’t any comfortable position I could put my shoulder in. Driving was necessary but awful, my chest spasming with every slight turn of the wheel.

After a few hot showers and some prodding with a percussive sports therapy gun, I figured out that it’s mostly my chest and upper trapezius that are messed up, rather than the shoulder itself, which is honestly a relief, as those are simpler muscles to heal than a full-blown rotator cuff issue or really anything else with the shoulder joint itself.

Once I figured that out, and after a particularly painful drive to work this...

Scudding clouds paint grey streaks across the pale blue sky. Trees sway and bend in the breeze. Her ankle length black raincoat billows as she strides confidently along the Midline, glass and steel rising all around, threatening to swallow the heavens. She’s gloriously out of place, clad head to toe in black, gliding past teenagers in shorts and hoodies and women shivering their sundresses.

It’s the kind of rare Spring day that reminds her of when the world still had seasons and subtlety.

An impossibly handsome guy turns onto the ‘line and they exchange a flicker of noticing. She’s not a head-turner in a stereotypically bombshell way, but she’s athletic and her body makes you look twice if you’re into that sort of thing.

The sky darkens behind the grey and she opens up her stride, not quite breaking into a jog but taking full advantage of her legs.

Up ahead, a couple of teenagers on...

It’s Sunday evening, and this month has been fraught with preparation. There’s an upcoming safety inspection, one of the few times management requires access to my home, and I half-needed, half-wanted to finish the clearing of the excess left over from the life I led with my late wife. It’s been three years and a lot of internal growth, and I was close enough that it made sense to spend the time to focus and push through. A crew came a couple of days ago to take the last of the stuff. The inspection is on Wednesday. I’m done.

Emotionally I’m exhausted, but it was worth it.

I’m supposed to be doing a class on developing my intuition - or rather - I am doing a class on developing my intuition, it’s just that… the timing isn’t great. Or maybe it’s supposed to be this way, but every waking minute that isn’t work has been slammed into the clear-out push. The classes are at an awkward time...

I’m recognizing a pattern in my life, one which I feel could be helpful to talk about, but the conversation is probably going to weave in and out of loss, trauma, emotionality, self-reflection, and that sort of thing. If that feels too spiky then maybe skip this one.

The last few weeks have been the same: I start Monday with renewed hope after having an exhausting weekend, not because I did too much, but because my emotions were all over the place. I get to work Monday and it feels like some form of resolution happened over the weekend. The week progresses, the usual things happen, I have feelings, and then it’s Friday and I fall apart again.

To explain what I think is happening, I’ve started viewing my days in terms of both time and energy units, or rather, the relationship between the two.

Since we have 24 hours in a day, imagine also having 24 units of energy. In a balanced hour...