JUST A DREAM AND THE WIND TO CARRY ME. SOON I WILL BE FREE.
Let’s talk about what it is like in here. Between these ears.
For weeks at a time, words or phrases will just roll around in my brain. I play with the sound of them and, whether or not I use know their definitions, I use them in sentences. Sometimes, I dream weave them into conversations and poetry while I sleep. Is this a standard function of the brain or is it stranger in here than I might have originally thought? Whichever way that cookie crumbles, the words of this week have introduced me to more than I ever wanted to know about corn smut and the dilemma of whether beef can be poured.
Far more pressing than fungus: the Man and I have had a third human living with us for 68 days- but who’s counting? . To quote high King Eliot, “I’m going to tell you something deep and dark and personal. Ready? Good.” It has been harrowing. Not because I don’t love her. But, because living with a grown child who would surgically attach herself to her father if medical plans covered it is not for the weak. And while I may have never classified myself as a weakling, apparently the shoe fits.
Which shoe? Maybe it’s one of the ones from the pile of shoes collecting at my front door, around the shoe rack. Not on the shoe rack, or under the shoe rack– but around the shoe rack. Maybe it’s one of those shoes that fits. Either way. I am, indeed, weak. Maybe I am weak because I am hungry. Wait- that can’t be it. There’s too much rotting food in the house for me to be hungry. Groceries no one asked for appearing and lingering and decaying. Or maybe I am weak from hunger, but because my spoons keep disappearing and I can’t eat anything. Maybe I am preemptively weak from the flu I might catch after being exposed by Third Child who visited her sick ex and then came back to kiss her mid-fifties daddy in the face. Hmm.
I can’t call it, but weak I am. I haven’t had a date night in two months. I’ll be back when I my strength returns.
/damsel
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