I had this particular positive affirmation appear in my facebook timeline twice this morning. Two different memes, and I’m no dummy. It must be a sign right??
In fact, I love this life approach. I love rain and dancing in it, literally and metaphorically. This morning however, I did not feel the moral boost I expected and even desired. I felt acutely that emotional ache that seems to seep from the soul into the limbs overtake me. And I wept. Then I went back to bed and slept….maybe I’m just tired?? Nope, it’s still here.
“Don’t blog about it.” My very private nature said. “Write a Random Act of Fiction about that feeling.” But when I started typing, I didn’t want some watered down story. I wanted to scream and throw things and set stuff on fire in the front yard. Rally the troops for lye and shovel duty. (My nearest and dearest will know now which storm I’m in and hope new readers will forgive me the vagueness. Not quite ready to throw the laundry on the porch yet.)
I’m tired of trying to dance. I’m bone weary of what seems to be a constant pour. Others are dealing with hurricanes. I shouldn’t be so bitchy??? is that the right word? No one is sick or dying. No one is in financial distress. Sure we desperately need REAL rain on the parched land, but even that is going to be ok. But I NEED shelter…hell an umbrella would be nice. The worst part, no one notices. No one seems to see the distress. I should take this act to Hollywood. My arms ACHE. My chest and throat are squeezed tight. My eyes burn, and in the mirror…..perfectly normal. Shouldn’t there be a big cartoon sign pointing at my head flashing “SOMEBODY HUG HER”. “THIS CHICK IS NOT ALRIGHT”. Must I scream and burn and roll on the floor with a trickle of blood coming from the corner of my mouth? How is everyone, including “Bill Starbuck” and company, going about their lives as if nothing is happening? And WHY am I allowing that?
In writing this, I do feel better. Despite the lack of explicit details, it’s cathartic….and I’m wondering. How many times do I miss the signs of distress because they aren’t in pretty google images on my social media feed? How many people do I meet every week hiding the same achy arms and burning eyes? The teacher, or store clerk, or student, or friend as desperate for an umbrella and dancing partner as I am today? How many are standing in storms I cannot fathom and dancing?
Thank you for reading and unknowingly dancing with me today.