My funk continues now. My sides and neck and shoulders are stiff with the effort of restraint. I’m jumpy, jittery to the touch. My mind is all over.
I feel like our dog can see right through my attempts at remaining normal to the outside.
Days of words, conversations, lyrics, noise—I want to curl up in a cold place with a quilt below and another above, and a couple of pillows. Someplace without electricity being rammed into appliances in every room: Dehumidifier; fish tank, the sound of a movie clip coming from my husband’s computer. And candle-type light. Nothing bright enough to read by, dark enough to dilate my pupils.
I feel like someone has injected me with adrenaline and told me to hold really still [or else…].
©2011 Sandra Davidson