Interlude
by motherblue212
A long two months. Happenings. Elation. Anxiety. Angst. Changes. A cliff of possibilities and choices that might as well be bottomless. I have been away for a while.
I went upstairs intending to take a simple shower before continuing with my work. I soaped my hair and then, well, I just stood there. I couldn’t move. Soap still running down my back, I lifted my hands slowly under the pouring water until the cups my palms made bounced a thousand droplets of spray towards my face. It tickled. It hurt. It was hard to breathe, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t put my hands down. My brain so full of everything, my heart hurt, my eyes tired. The water turned colder as time lapsed and I continued to stand motionless apart from my slowly moving hands creating an ever-changing mask of water dripping off my face.
I thought of the speeches I had made, advice I had given, of new friends and old. I thought of New York, and colors, and delicious food. Of moments in time with all the people I love, and the deer that continued to move despite being pummeled by a car just moments before we passed. Street fairs and opportunities gained and lost. I experienced so much these past few months and missed so much more. I felt I needed to be cleansed from something; from exhaustion, from over worked-ness, and not feeling quite like myself. I felt like I need to hold onto something as well. But that lies out there… blurry and out of focus.
I heard “Time” by Alan Parsons Project playing in my head. Everything was as slow and dreamy and annoying and painful as that tune can be. Lost within myself in my tiny shower that seems to never come clean. I wish it were November, August, or September. I wish I was not battered by my inner self. I wish I could let everything go from time to time. My patience with myself and my surroundings is wearing thin.
Cold. Cold. Cold. The temperature ran cold as time passed as I heard, “Mom, are you alright?”
The cold water and the tiny yell jarred me into reality. I opened my eyes, still trying to focus like I just woke up from a dream. Nothing is really wrong, everything is just transitional. This moment felt like an alternate reality as if when I opened the doors of the shower it would suddenly be something new. Like some sci-fi novel; some Brave New World.
Tomorrow is bounding toward me. Next stop: dreams.
it’s moments like these, you have to pause to catch your breath – give yourself that gift, if you can spare one small moment so you can recharge and keep moving. you deserve this!
Thanks, Lisa. You are right. It has been months of break neck pacing. The moment in the shower was surreal, the room was silent, and time felt as if it had stopped. The moment had to be captured.
captured yes – and released!
promise yourself 10 minutes a day to just sit and think of nothing but that moment, like in the shower (I know, I’m giving you this advice, knowing that I have a hard time following it myself!).
as long as you promise as well.
it’s always good to stop and sink into yourself from time to time.
you’re lovely and this is really lovely writing
Thanks so much for taking the time to read and your kind words,Tamara. I needed to sink just a little before I was ready to swim again.
Kim, I love the way you write! Such exquisite emotion. I can see/hear the cold water pounding onto your tired body in the little shower “that seems to never come clean”. I especially love the title, and can definitely follow it through your prose. I love the juxtaposing imagery of: “It tickled. It hurt.” favorite other lines: “I thought of New York, and colors, and delicious food.” and “The cold water and the tiny yell jarred me into reality.”
I was completely crushed and crestfallen hearing news of my hero, Nora Ephron’s, death. This was brilliant, and gave me pause. Thank you.
Shannon
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and sharing your kind words, Shannon. They certainly mean a lot coming from you who has such exemplary writing skills. Nora’s death is a huge loss. I feel the impact of it as well. I know some people write off her stuff as mere fluff, or curse her as the grandmother of modern day chick flicks. I know she could be formulaic. But her wry wit and the lovely way she captured human emotion with a few simple words is a wonderful template of how we all wish our lives could be written from time to time. She is one of the reasons I loved escaping to the cinema when I was younger. Not to mention, her strength as a woman and as a feminist was always very inspiring.