Every political sound bite careens, like a top, over the surface and off the edge. This is national, local, macro, micro. It mini-micro tornado fit into the corner of my office.
Change. Change is good.
Everyone says so.
Stop the world—I want to get off. For a minute. For a few. A mini-vacation. Alas there is no time (and not enough funds, frankly) for a Caribbean escape. And what would that accomplish anyway? Delay delay delay.
Tomorrow. I sit, in a trance, in front of my computer. I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll figure it out tomorrow. I’ll make a decision and/or better understand the dilemma tomorrow.
Anxiety reigns. Some specific. Some none. Like a virus, or a stomach ache. My body clearly reacts. Crunchiness. Throb. What’s this fuzziness, this weakness, this pain?
And whatever happened to my favorite glasses?
Everything feels just out of reach, too tall or too complex for me to grasp. Or maybe it’s just I can’t see.
When the “check engine” light suddenly came on last night, I didn’t notice anything different about the car (plus this is not the first this amber light has blinked on). But I did notice a palpable new level of anxiety. Is it serious? Is it stupid? Is it the crazy gas cap, for the third or fourth time? My oil change was mere months ago. Do I have some imminent, potentially unsafe or fatal leak? Oh, car. I need you to be working for me. I need you to get me, on time and on target, from place to place. I didn’t have time to call today to make an appointment. Can I squeeze one in tomorrow? Can I take time from work to do this? I need my car on Friday AND Saturday AND Sunday to get to to all of these places I want and promised to. Oh, car. Don’t fail me.
And suddenly I had this image of my own warning lights randomly blinking on:
Check Heart. Check Reality. Check (and re-check) Intentions.