I sat down in front of the wrong computer this morning. Starting the day off the tracks makes it nearly impossible to get things running smoothly. And this Tuesday feels like a Monday, what with everything going just slightly wrong. I ordered the wrong paper weight, the vellum buckled like crazy even when I put the wet glued pages under three coffee-table books, and now it feels like there is a tightening vice pressing my temples.
And Leonard is begging for peanut butter, nudging my arm so that typing is impossible.
I think my lithium levels might be slightly off. So I keep eating on an upset stomach, as though weighing the nausea down will help. I’m eating Leonard’s peanut butter.
And I’m not supposed to eat peanut butter.
So: how do you take yourself by the ears and whip yourself crisp like a sheet coming off the clothesline? How do you unwind when you’ve turned yourself in circles like a bit of twine that’s begun doubling down, vertical knotting into horizontal, tight wriggling.
Becoming Cordage would be a nice title for a memoir if anyone knew what that meant.
Last night we walked on the beach. I wondered what got into the world since the usually vacant beach was bustling at six in the evening on a windy Monday. The fresh air was relaxing. But I wonder if the wind and the wild surf roused something in me. Or roused an awareness.
I can’t shake a sense of urgency. The word impending keeps coming to my mind. And so I put off all the things I’m supposed to be doing. Staving off… who knows what? I’ve a to-do list of tasks, projects. I have a stack of books on the floor that need to be shelved. The living room needs vacuuming. Leonard’s claws need clipping. But I can’t move.
I play with Gimp. With PhotoScape X. I write a twitter poem.
Failure.
That’s what’s impending.
Why is it that every time I circle back to the same damn fears, they are unrecognizable?
ocher paint on cream
paper – a stippling of blue
because wrong turns happen
like a maple’s samara
falling into the birdbath
stillborn
I often experience an irrational sense of impending doom, that feeling of tremulous anxiety with no source and for seemingly no real end. That, and a very real feeling of obligation or responsibility to someone or something when there is no such thing and I am free to sit and eat and watch bad television if I want. I am not bi-polar, but I can feel everything you describe here. I love that you can evoke that from me,
I’m sorry if I evoke something so uncomfortable, but am glad that the connection is there – these human feelings that certainly transgress diagnoses… Thank you so much for reading and commenting!
Love the poem. So much. And oh I reverberate with the feelings you are exploring. Thank you for tracing these them and laying them out with words.
Might sound weird, but your words bring me so much so much comfort, Ren. They ease the parts of me that feel so… separate from the world sometimes.
I wanted to let you know that a weird thing has happened. Your posts are going to my junkmail, and I can’t figure out WHY. It has been happening for a few months. I might try to unsubscribe and then join up again. I really love it when your posts land in my inbox each day.
I mention it to you here in case it is happening to others too and you think some people who were “regulars” have disappeared.
go easy ~p
This was truly comforting to wake up to this morning, Pam. Thank you so much for commenting.
I have noticed that gmail has been flagging a lot of wordpress emails lately as spam – saying it has been reported by so many users… Not sure if that is the problem. My husband says that they aren’t going in his spam folder – but he’s not using gmail.
To be honest – I have so very few readers, I’m not sure it makes a difference. Still waiting at the soda counter trying to look my best for the people with clout 😉