Sometimes, when I am done wailing and gnashing my teeth, I get very still in my bed and try to remember if I accidentally slipped out on of those nights and made a deal with the devil, or Jim Rouse, or someone, and that's why I can't get myself out.
I have stopped telling myself that I am "stuck" here. That is mostly because the implications are frightening, and people tell that you're never stuck, and I think they say that because they know if I was, the glue would dry up and harden and one day I'd shrivel up with it.
So I am not stuck. There are all of these other words for what I am, and I could name them here, but sometimes I am afraid to name them even for myself, because they don't imply, they just are. I am, if nothing else, afraid.
Jim Rouse may or may not have anything to do with it, or he may have everything to do with it, but I can't get myself from point A to point B-- point C I cannot even fathom.
I have been trying so hard to stop being such a tortoise about everything. I have been waiting underground for fair weather for some time now. Every time I do poke my head up, I move terribly slowly. Still, there was this story, and there was a point A, and a point B for sure, and something about a Hare, and I remember now-- a Tortoise. Have you heard that one? Do you remember? How does it end?
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