It’s the little things I realize, as I look at the shiny, angry burn on my right knuckle.
I’ll never put a pan of cookies into this oven again. The oven I coveted so much, with its sleek white exterior and high tech, one touch buttons.
(They don’t work anymore)
And I think to myself how disposable appliances have become.
(Like lighters and goldfish… and people)
I stand in something of a daze of thoughts, pushing the timer buttons for an increment of a half hour. Pushing again because it comes up as “three, nine, nine, nine”. The timer has decided to dispense with zero for months now.
(Like we have dispensed of each other)
These are the times that I seem to cry the most. Each time another tiny piece of me shakes free and shatters on the ground.
In honesty, I cry all the time now. I had no idea that I had this many tears. My second child almost died at birth and I don’t remember crying then, not like this… I only remember frozen, creeping dread and numbness.
Now though, I cry so much I am afraid I’ll never stop. And I am beginning to feel a little desiccated. I guess its inevitable… all that flowing water leaves me feeling like a desert. My eyes have become sunken, my cheeks too. I pass a mirror and see Cleopatra’s mummy… all dark hair and big, staring eyes.
The tethers of my old life are snapping like high-voltage guy wires in a tornado.
The cobwebs of my new life are as yet so tenuous and fragile.
And when I let the tears take me for a ride, let insecurity and doubt have the wheel for a while, the thoughts that keep revolving like tires on endless miles of blacktop are:
What am I doing?
What have I done?
27 August 2012