Friday, November 5, 2010

free-fall and self-arrest

I woke up this morning feeling like an elephant was sitting on my chest.

In my dream my mom was cleaning my room.  I walked into the bedroom and caught her spraying pesticide between the sheets.  "I was just trying to keep the bugs down," she said.

"That's toxic, you can't do that," I said.  "Your room is a disaster," she said.  She picked a pile of clothes off the bed and set it on a dresser.   "Stop."  She picked a gum wrapper from the floor and tsk'd.  I chased her from the room, but she kept coming back.

Finally, "Get out," I said.  "Get out now, I mean it."

And she left.

When I wake, as if in concert with the flat light outside my window, I can feel myself slipping into a grey emotion, sliding down some glacier graphline with a y axis of receding happiness.  I put out a mental ice-axe, lean into it hard, and stop halfway down the icy incline to look around.

The clouds are not depressing, they are soft and romantic.  I am not lonely, I am socially unfettered.  It's Friday, and my first stop before work will be the gym.  If I can't live in a sunny place I can stoke my metabolism until something starts shining from the inside.

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