How are you doing?
No, really, how are you?
I want to scream, but instead, I sigh.
I sigh all day long…
I’m headachy, like a cold is coming on.
My eyes are bloodshot.
I don’t sleep.
“You sound crazy, Maery.”
That’s why I’ve been censoring myself.
I feel like a compressed spring that’s ready to break loose.
I want to get into my truck and drive as far away from my life as I can go.
With my laptop in the backseat.
No. It’s not my life I want to escape. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bring the laptop.
I wouldn’t dream about how I’d stop at a park.
Where I’d write and hike and run and think.
What a luxury to be able to think!
No. Not a luxury.
Most of the time I’d rather not think.
Or is it feel? I’d rather not feel…
It’s the distraction I want to get away from. The resistance.
But all these calling-things feel so urgent!
Perhaps it’s Trump and the Supreme Court and the Congress.
Maybe it’s the hurricanes, fires, volcano eruptions, mining, pipelines.
Maybe it’s that as a woman, I feel like it’s open season on our rights and our safety.
Am I the only one feeling this way?
Wait. Let me check Twitter.
Hmmm… There are a lot of angry adoptees on Twitter.
Oh wait. That was distraction again, wasn’t it?
This is what happens when you put off the things that are calling to you.
They just keep pulling at your sleeve, like a child who wants to tell you they spilled a carton of milk.
Maybe you wipe up the mess.
Maybe you tell the child to wipe it up themselves.
Maybe on the way to the kitchen you hear your phone beep, and you go to see if something better awaits you there.
Is this what happens when you are looking at a new phase in your life?
That you are so ready to start, but it’s not here yet?
Actually, it’s frightening.
What if my life changes but I remain the same?
I think I’m going to die from this urgency thing.
I think I’m being ridiculous.
I think that what I think doesn’t matter.
Is that the problem? I think that what I think doesn’t matter?
That what I say isn’t worth saying?
Even introverts, quiet people, introspective people, old people, invisibles,
Those who speak but no one listens,
And people who watch and listen, more than they speak,
Can reach the point of wanting to scream, “I’ve had enough!”
And even if no one listens, no one reads, no one cares
At least I wasn’t the one who silenced and censored myself.
When I feel this way, I know I should listen.
It doesn’t go well when I don’t.
I don’t want to be ashamed of my brain. To apologize and say, “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
I think there must be a reason, something good I can do with this person, this me.
There’s no time to come up with a plan.
There’s no roadmap to follow.
But before I go do my thing,
How are you?