Thursday, June 9, 2016
I'm too overwhelmed to write here. I'm overwhelmed by a house overflowing with stuff that has nowhere to be put away. All the put away spaces are already jam packed. I'm overwhelmed by a looming work deadline, and by legal clusterfuckery with my mother's estate that my brother, currently visiting, is working with me to untangle. I'm overwhelmed by grown children navigating for autonomy in a tiny apartment with too many things inside it, and too many feelings colliding, swirling the weather inside me. I'm overwhelmed by overflowing laundry and a refrigerator so full I open it and close it again, not wanting to unpack everything to find what I want. I am overwhelmed by paper tigers ("The fears are paper tigers" Amelia Earhart said), by chaos, by the need to make travel arrangements for a reunion in Jamaica in July, by housecleaning and trying to marshal everyone's chores, by the effort to lose weight again, by summer, by the chronically unresolved. I'm overwhelmed by moods, mine and everyone else's, and by the silly desire for those I love to be happy all the time. I feel as my little world is teetering out of control, and I'm the only one who notices, the only one trying to keep the wagon upright. What am I saying? It's the hour before daybreak and I'm lying awake in the grey room, my thoughts churning. I'm roiling with uncertainties, my heart burdened inside my chest, my breaths tight and small. I turn slowly on the spit of my anxieties, unable to make the world predictable, watching those paper tigers catch fire, feeling them burn.