your voice is a rhapsodic melody,

gleaming hallelujahs

Sunday, March 30, 2008

I just feel sick all the time now.


I haven’t been into town in a while. I’ve been getting the groceries delivered and the mail is shoved through the slot each day so why bother going out when I can just stay in? I walk around the woods enough and I trim the hedges and speak to the trees so it’s not like it gets too lonely. But today I’ve decided that it’s time to reintegrate into modern culture. I will buy a cellular phone and an internet connection, even if it costs me my soul. Besides, everyone is doing it. I button up my wool coat and lace up my boots. A feeling inside me starts to grow, a feeling I haven’t felt in years. It’s a vague uncomfortable knot in my chest. Insecurity. Is my hair too long? Are my clothes too outdated? What if I make a fool of myself? But I decide not to care. I pull on a knitted cap and walk out the door. The walk into town doesn’t take long, only forty-five minutes or so, but it gives me enough time to turn back once or twice. But I don’t. I keep going. I round the corner and I begin to see buildings. The street has a sort of hum to it. Stopping in front of a store window, I stare for a few minutes before moving on. I almost forgot what it looks like to see a saleswoman try to compliment someone into buying a $200 sweater. I look down at my tattered coat and begin to feel that insecurity again. This time it doesn’t go away. As I walk towards the heart of town, the street’s hum gets louder and louder and when I reach the biggest intersection the noise is almost deafening. I realize that I’m sweating. And now this newfound uncertainty is consuming me. The bustle of town is too loud, it’s too much, and I can’t take it. I hear a small whisper from somewhere and after spinning around I realize it’s me. The whisper is growing. There are no words, just something short of what I think someone being strangled would sound like and now I’m screaming. The screams bounce back and forth between the buildings like the big rubber ball I have at home. Home. I look down the street, mapping in my mind the quickest way back to the road that will bring me back home. I begin to run down the sidewalk, dodging passerby and leaving broken grocery bags in my wake. Now I have made a fool of myself, running down the street screaming with my hands over my ears. Maybe next time I’ll just stay home.


Blogger Dewey said...

How delightful to find you writing again.
Fine true voice, fine cadences. Thanks.

4:41 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Now that's the creative soul I've been bragging about. Keep writing.

12:12 PM  

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