A silence settled into my brain on Monday, driving out the scream that's been present since April 5th. I'm slowing everything down while at the same time everything is revving up to a frantic pace: I'm working full-time, refinancing my house (in a not-easy way, unfortunately), having work done on my house, planning my mother-in-law's funeral reception, and getting unmarried.
The interior design currently on display is post-hurricane, mid-century tornado, early cyclone.
Tonight in my bathroom I killed a spider that had fur. FUR. (At first I thought it was a black seed-pod that had blown in.)
A turbulent wind blows this late June night, knocking down a broken mirror I'd leaned against the house, on its way to the garbage, cracking it even more. There are now tiny reflective bits on the deck. An image appears in each shard: an eye, a leaf, a cloud. No barefoot midnight prowls for me, apparently. (As If.)
Next Monday we declare our independence in the red/white/blue trio, and I'm attempting to generate a grilling spirit, a watermelon mood, a corn-on-the-cob enthusiasm for a day when I'll end up working because we're four weeks from a Big Show and backed-up with orders. Maybe I'll treat myself to getting off an hour early so I can come home, pour myself a patriotic martini (Russian vodka) in my Waterford (Irish) martini glass. And sing the Marseillaise (en français).
It's all a scatter & a spectacle, turned inside-out and running backwards down the highway.