Hold Really Still

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

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