Where is my mind . . . ?
When I think about how truly fragile the human mind is, it frightens me. So, of course, it's not exactly pleasant to have the fact shoved under my nose for closer inspection. Which is why the past few days have been wretched, as I have volunteered myself for Grandmother-watching-duty.
The woman is completely gone. A steady stream of fantasy pours from her mouth like water through the Panama Canal, broken by any numbers of stops and dams and levees. "You know, my boss's wife made them . . . those . . . things, you know. She . . . lengthened them . . . you know, for the stuff . . . " It's so disconcerting. This is the woman that picked me up from school every day up until sixth grade, when I rode the bus. She taught me how to fold clothes, a talent I put to use for this past year at EPH Laundry. She told me stories about the depression and the war, growing up and what her life was like, things her children did, silly arguments she had with her husband, my grandfather. And now I'm the one telling her those stories, hoping in vain that I can stir up some coherent memory and remind her of the woman she used to be. But to no avail; she is gone.
I read in the paper Monday that a woman in Pennsylvania just stabbed her 18 month old daughter three times and left her in the snow, the knife still in her back. (And to think, Bush is about to put that bible-thumping sleeze ball into the FDA throne of Birth Control, enabling him to prohibit single women from taking it? Give me a break.) Anyway, the little girl was sitting up when a passer-by found her and is hanging on in critical condition at the local hospital. The story terrified me. My own daughter just told me over the telephone, "I lub you!" and it made my < i>life worthwhile. I can't imagine harming her. The mere thought of anyone doing anything to hurt her is enough to send me rushing to the bathroom, bile rising in my throat. I was just thinking . . .
When I look into her eyes I see myself reflected there. I think one day she could be me, and I have no advice to share. I don't know what to tell her, so I hold her tight instead, and hope to God she'll never know what's running through my head. The world's an awful place sometimes--there's so much rage and hate. And even if Karma comes around, it sometimes comes too late. Bad things happen to good people, and good things to the bad. That this injustice might touch her makes me really mad. But more than that is scares me; it keeps me up at night. Just knowing in the face of danger, try hard as I might--I cannot protect her. I cannot be her shield. I cannot stop the viciousness and ignorance they wield. All a mother has to give are aegis and advice. But I'm fresh out of both of these. God, let this hug suffice.
Nothing about this week-long vacation I'm taking seems to be even remotely relaxing. I'm so stressed out. I can barely turn my head for the tension in the muscles there. I feel like I'm suffocating--choking on my anxiety. Between finances, the dilapidated condition of my home, my job change, my up-and-coming Driver's License test, my need to go back to school, my writer's block--everything is hitting me at once! And it's DRIVING ME CRAZY! I need a vacation from my vacation! This is ridiculous. How hard can it be to be lazy?
Everyone seems to be having a hard time right now, which is, if not exactly problem-solving, consoling. Misery loves company. Corey hates his job. (Believe me, I know; I hear him bitch about it on a daily basis. ::Snicker::) Jess hates her job and it's < i>really stressing her out. Alex just lost her job. AJ is out of the job. I feel like one of the Four Horsemen, prophesizing impending doom on everyone I just mentioned. Hey, why don't we just all quit our day jobs? We can be mindless sloths for the rest of our lives. Bills? What are bills? I certainly don't pay mine, why should you? Come on, sign the petition.
::Manic scream-session ensues. Copious amounts of lazing to follow.::
The woman is completely gone. A steady stream of fantasy pours from her mouth like water through the Panama Canal, broken by any numbers of stops and dams and levees. "You know, my boss's wife made them . . . those . . . things, you know. She . . . lengthened them . . . you know, for the stuff . . . " It's so disconcerting. This is the woman that picked me up from school every day up until sixth grade, when I rode the bus. She taught me how to fold clothes, a talent I put to use for this past year at EPH Laundry. She told me stories about the depression and the war, growing up and what her life was like, things her children did, silly arguments she had with her husband, my grandfather. And now I'm the one telling her those stories, hoping in vain that I can stir up some coherent memory and remind her of the woman she used to be. But to no avail; she is gone.
I read in the paper Monday that a woman in Pennsylvania just stabbed her 18 month old daughter three times and left her in the snow, the knife still in her back. (And to think, Bush is about to put that bible-thumping sleeze ball into the FDA throne of Birth Control, enabling him to prohibit single women from taking it? Give me a break.) Anyway, the little girl was sitting up when a passer-by found her and is hanging on in critical condition at the local hospital. The story terrified me. My own daughter just told me over the telephone, "I lub you!" and it made my < i>life worthwhile. I can't imagine harming her. The mere thought of anyone doing anything to hurt her is enough to send me rushing to the bathroom, bile rising in my throat. I was just thinking . . .
When I look into her eyes I see myself reflected there. I think one day she could be me, and I have no advice to share. I don't know what to tell her, so I hold her tight instead, and hope to God she'll never know what's running through my head. The world's an awful place sometimes--there's so much rage and hate. And even if Karma comes around, it sometimes comes too late. Bad things happen to good people, and good things to the bad. That this injustice might touch her makes me really mad. But more than that is scares me; it keeps me up at night. Just knowing in the face of danger, try hard as I might--I cannot protect her. I cannot be her shield. I cannot stop the viciousness and ignorance they wield. All a mother has to give are aegis and advice. But I'm fresh out of both of these. God, let this hug suffice.
Nothing about this week-long vacation I'm taking seems to be even remotely relaxing. I'm so stressed out. I can barely turn my head for the tension in the muscles there. I feel like I'm suffocating--choking on my anxiety. Between finances, the dilapidated condition of my home, my job change, my up-and-coming Driver's License test, my need to go back to school, my writer's block--everything is hitting me at once! And it's DRIVING ME CRAZY! I need a vacation from my vacation! This is ridiculous. How hard can it be to be lazy?
Everyone seems to be having a hard time right now, which is, if not exactly problem-solving, consoling. Misery loves company. Corey hates his job. (Believe me, I know; I hear him bitch about it on a daily basis. ::Snicker::) Jess hates her job and it's < i>really stressing her out. Alex just lost her job. AJ is out of the job. I feel like one of the Four Horsemen, prophesizing impending doom on everyone I just mentioned. Hey, why don't we just all quit our day jobs? We can be mindless sloths for the rest of our lives. Bills? What are bills? I certainly don't pay mine, why should you? Come on, sign the petition.
::Manic scream-session ensues. Copious amounts of lazing to follow.::