Frozen Will
It is 13 degrees outside. There is a pink footy pajama toe tapping on the corner of my laptop.
Ten minutes later now. Naps are a thing of the past, as you can probably tell by my month-long hiatus from LJ, the days are much more full, and far more hectic. My kids, now small people with questions and stories to tell, requiring sincere attention, creative negotiation and thoughtful activity coordination most waking hours.
About 45 minutes later. One child dressed, one still in PJs, the playdough is out and the temperature is up a few degrees.
After filling a binder with notes and outlines, scene sketches and character designs, last year’s novel is on a shelf. The reviews keep me feeling semi-human, but the New Year brought with it a crush from the inside. The usual… going over of past expectations and defeats, plans for future projects, the constant reminders that what I am doing is of value even though being the point person to two two-year-olds can often feel like indentured servitude wrapped tightly around phases of delirious joy.
One hour and twenty minutes later. Nightmares have plagued me; coffin lids closing, rings made of glass cutting into fingers, friends in trouble… but at least I know enough now to read the signs. I know that signs of death do not literally mean such - they only mean change, and not necessarily to the negative. I know that the images of suffocation are only signifiers of the feelings I am already acutely aware of. But this time it is not socializing that will solve my own twists, it is only work and life evolution that will relieve my suffering.
It is good negativity, positive suffering I am speaking of. The sort that motivates and births new life. My daughter can dance, closing her eyes, moving and acting out the music. My son remembers everything, and can too often read my mind. Life is good, more often could not be better, but I owe a bit more and I feel like I had better get started.