Sitting here at my dining table, I am surrounded by chaos. Seriously. We’ve been gone camping. This is our family tradition…at summer’s end, we gather up all and sundry and trek somewhere for a week of resetting our biorhythms, eating S’Mores, and turning our collective backs on technology. But when we return from all that resetting of ourselves, the house is a disaster for longer than I can tolerate.
Genius that I am, I decided that in addition to washing sundry and its friends, I would also reorganize the kitchen pantry before making the weekly menu yesterday. The crazy is strong with this one, let me tell you.
And, if the truth be told, according to Mister Soandso, that is more true of late than we’d all like. I haven’t actually felt like I’m spiraling but September is coming and my Septembers often herald dark times for me. Which is a huge bummer, because it used to be all my very favorite things came into being in September: sweater season, back to school, the smell of new pencils, et cetera. And then I lost a baby one September morning and all that changed.
So here I sit, on a chair that needs vacuuming, at a table cluttered with opened bags of pretzels and chips, boxes of tea, and various food stuffs I need to decide if they’ve gone past their point of yumminess. It’s my Monday version of being stalled on the side of the highway, going nowhere while I try to figure out what to do first. I’m reminded of that old curse: “May you live in interesting times.”
This summer has been an interesting time, indeed. Interesting as I’ve been worrying things and worrying about things. Summer is always super hectic for me with work and family and then I try to write on top of it all. As you might imagine, my mental stability takes a bruising as much as I cherish the short 10 weeks of summer I get with my kids, husband, and NW sunshine.
A few weeks ago, I did a bit more than bruise myself. I had a bit of a mishap in the shower as I attempted to shave my armpits. I don’t want to get into any debates about the pros/cons of shaving armpits. I shave; you don’t need to if you don’t want to and I won’t think any differently about you, male or female, about the state of your armpits. But I like a hairless existence.
Suffice it to say, me and the razor tangled and it won. FYI, the side of my knuckle is really interesting bared of all skin. Under that gauze and tape is an inch long rectangle of my inside self. No stitches required, thank goodness, but there also wasn’t any skin left to stitch together. Wound care and time was all I could do. That and be very thankful it is nothing but a flesh wound. (Insert a smile and a nod here.)
I bring this up because not only am I sitting here worrying bout all this crap on my table and the crap strewn about the house as I restock the camping gear, I’m also worrying the remains of the scab on my finger.
Scabs, for me, are a bit like a loose tooth. I have a real hard time ignoring one once I remember it’s there, disrupting my normal.
There is something very interesting about things that aren’t part of your normal. If you are like me, I seem to return to them over and over again as if reexamining them will somehow either make them make more sense, or get rid of them altogether. Alas, they are the flesh wounds of my psyche. They might not be enough to end me, but I can’t quite ignore the lasting marks they make either.
These interesting times of late, they are leaving marks. I miss my old Charlie dog. I still feel guilty over giving up on Meli when I promised her I wouldn’t. I desperately don’t want school to start because that means my children are one more year towards leaving this chapter of their lives. I can’t wait for the inherent schedule of school to iron out of the wrinkles of our summer days. Work is in a place of limbo and big changes. And my writing is stalled and that stresses me out like crazy.
But, I know that these interesting times will eventually turn into new skin covering the flesh wounds. It might be shiny and thin skin, but it should be enough to get me through until I manage to forget there was once a wound and then a scab. Then, hopefully I can stop worrying them, worrying about them.
September is coming and I know I will circle around the hurts of my past. I know September will be interesting, but I can hope that interesting won’t also mean so overwhelming that I can’t find a way to smile every day, hug my loved ones a bit more, and spiral more like Maria on a mountainside than like water going down a drain.