Waiting

To get into emotive writing I start with a small piece to get my mind focussed. You may find this a little unsettling.

Waiting. This summer has been about waiting. People, moments, for the rain to stop, for the sun to be out and shining for an entire day. For everyone to catch up, to go away and to come back. It’s not possible to carry on. The magnet of the entire earth’s emotions pulls hard. I am in paralysis. Move.

But I can’t move, everything is stuck in emotional jelly, set in a deep large tin. The berries are at the very top, refusing to lay in the base, like the brain cells in my head. Except my head hurts – the jelly feels nothing.

It hurts every morning and the whistling in my ears stop after the first cup of strong dark coffee. The smell of the freshly ground beans arouses my mind. He enters my space. I throw that look in his direction. Get out. I want time to think, to compose myself. He senses my antagonism. It’s like that these days. Eventually he leaves. I smile.

I move to the door, and wonder if I should have a cigarette. It’s still dark and the stars are dancing to the rumba in the sky. To the left is the moon, my big beautiful luna. To the right a hazy sun appears reluctantly, afraid of the night. The coffee is perfect. My dark mood lifts slightly. Only slightly, the day is yet to come. But first more sleep. I can sleep now he has gone.

Bed is a haven in a heartless world, sleep is undeniably an angel of mercy. The heat of the blanket beneath is comforting and soon the dreams come. They are not  my dreams, they are everyone else’s. I have forgotten how to shut the world out. My soul lays open and bleeds like a wound that refuses to heal. It’s their pain, not mine. My mind of jelly can not come to the rescue.

Two hours later and I rise from the nightmares, no longer being chased by the horse that can’t stop running, thundering through me. That’s my heart. It beats too loudly and anxiety makes me sweat. There is no one to tether the horse except me, but I’m scared and I can’t.

The shower eases the pain around my ribs. They are sore, bruised, blistered. Work starts in an hour and is a car journey away. I am perfectly made and slowly climb in to the car and drive away, leaving the cat in the porch. It’s a summer’s day, he can enjoy the heat outside, chase the flies and bees and imagine a life that is more like paradise.

Everyone greets me, I respond and smile. Not even my eyes give away the torment of the night, or so I would like to believe. My first client is waiting for me. A woman in her forties, who has been coming to see me for two months now. We are almost there. No, she is almost there, I am not. I’m still waiting.

<insert image of a very berry jelly>

 

 

 

 

 

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