Today I feel a little vulnerable, which totally bums me out. It’s all the more palpable because last week I was on such a rockin’ high. Remember the giddiness? I practically jumped out of the computer.
Well, if that was “intoxication” this is “hangover” or maybe “withdrawal.”
The symptoms started last night. First, there was this welling up inside. Not of tears or fears (or even Tears for Fears), but of something more elusive. It was as though a fog rolled in and I was straining to make out a figure on the horizon. The sensation was almost hopeful, yet the manifestation of these reverberations was entirely truncated and agitated. I became ridiculously impatient. When I found myself tangled in the cord of my computer and stumbling over shoes left by the bed (which were mine of course) I completely unspooled. Every inanimate object in the room was rising in a conspiracy against me!
Once settled, I retreated. Lulled by the words on a page, I read until I reached the crossroads of either putting the book down or staying up for another hour to finish. I closed the book.
Like an expert I refuge. And have, at times, gone to great lengths to be cacooned, warm and relaxed. But I’ve started to realize that there is a fine, undulating line between taking harbor in a soothing environment and escaping. Last night when I retreated into my book I read to escape a feeling that wasn’t bad, but unexplainable and powerful enough to cause irrational eruptions. I cursed something I couldn’t label by kicking its existence down the road. I know this is what I did because not long after I awoke this morning slight things started to irritate me: the crowd on the train; a particular assignment at my part time, temporary job; an erupting soda. I recognized these grievances as trivial matters, but minor inconveniences have always led me to dejectedly utter, “I know it shouldn’t bother me, but…”
I would prefer not to be cornered into distraction by something without a name or shape, but here I am…trying to elbow my way out.