The sun comes up with such determination every morning. Even the slightest little gap in my curtains lets in a laser beam that can wake me from a dead sleep. I have seen my cat rise from her heavy slumber just to move out of the beam's way. The sun is a remarkable thing. I can't think about what it does, and how, without feeling kind of sick. The whole entire universe can twist my brain into knots within just a few seconds of casual pondering. I always marvel at how we try to make sense of it all, when there is no sense to be made. One can't make sense of a miracle. You can map the human Genome, but you cannot map the human soul. We can name and map the stars, but we will never really know what they are, or why they are, or where from which they came. It's all speculation. Scientists so often speak with this all knowing conviction that they understand and "know" how things began. They don't. No one does. We are probably wrong about everything. We have trouble coming to terms with, "No beginning". I do.

I have bitten my nails to the cuticle. They are sore. I am preparing for war it seems. I will sit quietly for a few moments, and suddenly my fingers are in my mouth and I am ripping away tiny bits of skin and feeling sharp slashes of pain. I don't know why, and then I do know why. All the reasons piled up on the nightstand, beside my water glass and my books. All those little things that make up a life. The little things that make you bite your nails. Life is a circus. You jump from ring to ring to ring. My dreams have been heavy and odd. I am tired when I wake up. I am trying to slow down. My mother always tells me to slow down. I am always rushing. Always trying to live my life in one day. Always running from my impending end.

Sometimes you just need to get a power washer out and clean the decks as it were. I actually just did that. I love a good power washer. It's fun blasting things into oblivion. It would make for a quick pedicure. This thing would take your toes right off. I cleaned one little piece of the deck and found out how filthy the rest of it was. It may take a month to do the whole thing. I feel guilty about using all that water. We're going to run out of water one of these days. Water is my favorite drink I think. I don't drink enough of it.

I still worry about my heart...it's a mental game. It's a mind bending, panic stricken game of nerve against nerve. I am not on my feet as of yet. Still have little attacks of shear terror. I have to figure out a way of beating back my doubts in my own head. I am hard on myself. I can throw myself against a wall over and over about the same issues. Everyday I wake up and say today I'll change my life. I never seem to...perhaps life is changing me. I need to meditate or something. I need to become a Nun. Nuns live in quiet solitude, they seldom drink, abstain from sex, pray a lot, wear black (maybe I am a nun). I have to be careful how I talk to myself. If I had transcripts of what I say to myself all day long, I'd probably sit with my jaw open for hours on end in disbelief. They are certainly not pep talks. I don't know if it's art that drives me a bit mad, or if it's just being a person. I seem to like chaos from time to time, but don't want to be here permanently. My stillness needs to be found. I need to look a little harder for it.

I have conversations in my head that are mean and unforgiving. I suppose we all do that from time to time. We are programmed to foil our own plans. I think this year has been hard for whatever reason. I have learned that I can be happy and miserable in the same breath. It's strange, but I feel like I am learning how to be a person in huge strides. Just when you think you know who you are, the sun comes up on a new day and your find yourself looking in the mirror at a stranger. My face looks so different to me from week to week. My eyes are not my eyes. They are somebody else's eyes. Somebody older and broken. Not mine.

I need to go to bed. For three nights in a row I've been trying to start a book by Miriam Toews. I have failed with each subsequent attempt. I'll try again tonight. I know it'll be a good book, but I can't get past page 3. My thoughts drift into this kind of abyss. I can't stay in bed, at least my mind can't. I float out into the trees and down to the river and read the same paragraph over and over again. And then I set the book down and turn the light out and pray my same prayer. I move my lips softly and whisper those familiar words into the coolness of the room. I force my eyes to close and hug a pillow. My cat moves in circles down by my feet, she turns and turns until she finds just the right spot. I can feel her on top of my legs. I can feel her walk over my hip to the other side of the bed around 4am. I wake long enough to drink some water and think some more. I may even whisper half of my prayer again, until sleep finds me again.
The darkness is tangible.
It has weight.
I wait for my beam of sunlight to come in and scald the bed.
I say to myself that today will be the day that I conquer fear and worry and doubt.
I'll say nice things to myself.
I'll be better. I won't count heartbeats.

I'll make Jello.
I'll eat it right out of the bowl.
I'll take a long look at my face and smile.
I'll paint a picture.
I'll get to page 4 of Miriam's book. Maybe page 5.
I'll think about you every waking moment, even when I don't think I am. You'll be there.
Like blood running through my heart.
Pounding me into submission.
Ask me anything. I'll answer.
Come and just collapse into the pumpkin couch.
I'll set the coffee pot for 9 am.
And I'll look out the front window waiting as long as I have to.

j

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