Forrest for the Trees

Today was a whole revolution of mood swings. I started out feeling like the word "linguine" feels to say out loud. Linguine. Liquid. Full of movement outward, searching for that slightly downward sloping direction to roll into. But soon the surface was flat, and I was still. Angrily still. I was in a hole. And then the word became something closer to "stagnant". I adore the word stagnant, because it sounds like the inaction of it's definition. Similar to stop.

Sometimes when typing the word stop I pause for a second afterwards. Stop has a definite end, stop demands to be recognized, stop conveys an attitude of absolute authority.

By 11:30 I was "stagnant". Which frayed into "frazzled" after leaving the parking lot of the gym, without ever going into the gym. My being encompassed "frazzled". My hair frizzed out into the rainy climate, uncooperative to the effort of my hands constantly mashing my bushy mane back down to a respectable shape. Frazzled. Fumbling. I ran a red light because I was reaching down to pick up my phone which I had dropped when putting a cd into the disc player while driving 52 in 45 mph zone.

By the time I made it home, un-exercised (please allow me to make up that word), my "frazzled" mood swooped down to "dull" and curled up in bed at 1:30pm. My husband, bless him or beat him, will not allow me to sleep during the day. And he comes into the bedroom and rips off the covers and says "Get up! Let's go get a snicker's blizzard." Mmmm, snicker's blizzard. My happy food. And totally non-vegan. But let's not think about that right now.

So I'm in the car with the kids, the neighbor's kid and we are munching on snickers blizzards and I'm feeling unsure, but reluctant to let go of the power that "dull" held over me for the last hour. Because "dull" was intense, with it's brute hands pushing my shoulders down, squeezing my face, telling me not to breathe. But then we head to Barnes and Nobel and before long I have abandoned "dull" though his residue is still on my hands and my cheeks.

And for a bit I am in the rare moment of "me". An hour roaming the shelves of Barnes and Nobles, reading Vegan cookbooks, counting the classic literature novels I own and those I hope to own, learning new positions from the cosmo sex books, and gasping over breathless poetry. But "me" is gone as soon as Chris announces he is tired of following the kids and it is now my turn. And then I become "no we arn't buying that", "don't whine", "be nice to your sister", "come back here", "no I said we arn't buying that", "because i said so".

By 5:30 I am "drab". Will I fall asleep before 8:30 tonight? What will I make for dinner? Do I have to go back to work next week? Why can't I finish anything I start? Where is so and so and what are they doing right now? Can I bare this baseness tomorrow?

All these words and questions and feelings and obligations.

When I got the chance
I asked them a slew of questions.
They offered to burn me.
It was all they knew.

How can I expect so much from just a word? How can I expect salvation by simply running towards the word "peace"? Surely once I capture that word it will be fleeting, like type on the page, jumping from word to word, barely noticing the paragraph for my obsession with the descender on the letter "g" in the word "unchanging".