Sorry for the Buddhist-poem-flake-out. It’s all part of the necessary path, I guess.
“There’s no earthly way of knowing… which direction we are going…” ~ Willie Wonka
Not only don’t I know which direction we are going, but I don’t even know now where I am. I sleep as early and as much as possible – greedily falling into the cushion-y darkness where everything turns OFF for long, glorious hours. I wake confused, then teary, and I gulp down the pills that help me through the day. I’m just not hungry lately either. It’s as if I got to an anxiety/fear point so high I smashed through its glass roof (Willie Wonka style, speaking of the great confectioner) and now I’m flying around grasping at different ideas, completely ungrounded, definitely dazed, and evidently, flaking out as well.
All these thoughts. I decided I ‘m going to learn Spanish. I want to visit Mansfield, MO, home of my beloved heroine, Laura Ingalls Wilder. I’m going to read books even as an English major I’d never dared attempt: Les Miserable and War and Peace. I’ll learn to play guitar. Write a novel, maybe even out of this blog. Visit my relatives, send them all care packages. Volunteer to read to kids at the library. Walk dogs at the humane society. Do yoga. Learn to paint. Anything, everything. Something so I’m not nobody doing nothing.
Sometimes I have these grandiose plans to change the world, at least my world and the people in and around it, making positive deposits in the great big bank of karma.
But still I play out scenarios of the day we drop off our son, over and over, with different circumstances and outcomes each time…except he is always gone at the end. In the scenarios we always have to go, we always drive away. He is always, always gone, and he will be gone, and he will be gone soon. No wonder I am meditating on impermanence. I can’t really comprehend any of it.
Andy and I met with a mediator and we have workbooks to fill in, just like we did at the church when we were planning to marry. Everything is cyclic. We will wait until Jonah is at his new school and then we will re-convene, workbooks completed, bringing yet another thing to its conclusion.
My friend H (bless her) invited M and me and Jonah to her pool again tomorrow, thank you thank you thank you little H. To her it may not be much but to us it is everything. Yesterday M and I had to drive Jonah around the entire time we had him; there was simply nowhere we could go. It poured rain and Jonah didn’t want music. I got him singing at one point but then he started his repetitive requesting-phase:
Wannatakeabath? Wannatakeabath? Wannatakeabath? Bye Bye M. Wannatakeabath? Daddy? Wannatakeabath? Bye Bye M. Daddy? Daddy? Grandma? Swim-pool? Swim-pool? Wannatakeabath? Wannatakeabath? Wannatakeabath? Wannatakeabath? (Insert BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAM instantly followed by giggling laughter). WannaseeJack? WannaseeJack?
And I curse myself for gritting my teeth and wanting to shout SHUT UP because soon enough I’ll wish I could hear his little voice, no matter what it was saying or shouting or screaming.
Oh, what a weird place in time & space this is.
“For the rowers keep on rowing,
And they’re certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing…”