there - 't' = here

There are days when being there is the hardest part (and by there I mean here, as in there minus the ‘t’ = here, or even more apt, shuffle the letters about, add a ‘b’ and ‘a’ and you’ve got how hard it is to breathe). The day when you wake up and every moment out the door is a compromise, a struggle not to just stay home. We do not congratulate each other enough for simply leaving the warmth of our beds, our homes that are really what we think about returning to most the day most days after all.
And then on these days the hardest part, it seems, is finding any space. The world seems to close in on you making the there, and the here and the breathing part even less a triumph. I went outside to breathe in that way smokers breathe counter intuitively and found myself sitting with an arc of five people standing within five feet of me. I tried to remember separateness is an illusion, we are all connected, I looked at the leaves of a tall maple kissing a fir tree and thought about molecules and the blanket (this blanket is the universe, and here is a war, and here is an orgasm, etc). But all my atoms just seemed to repel their atoms and I sat there doing nothing but trying to stop my atoms from screaming at their atoms and wishing but not wishing I had Tourette’s.
But then to contradict myself I don’t really want to be there either, home in total separateness. It’s the sort of day when you want other people to become complicit in your not being wherever you’re supposed to be.