It's
the day after the paycheck, (not mine) and I'm standing at the gas pump at
Cumberland Farms, filling up the gas tank, wondering how we're going to arrange
the Rubik cube of the next two weeks. You know just what I'm talking about:
expenditures and resources.
I'm
actually having paroxysms, unusual for me, but I am standing there pumping gas,
glad my husband isn't, about to take the dog for a walk, and for once I'm glad
there are those irritating speakers next to my head,
just because David Byrne is howling "Burning down the house !!" and it just begins plowing through me, moving me, that song, so much that I begin rocking the car, back and forth to the liberating tune; while I lean against the car, holding the pump, leaning on wayyy back onto the car, looking up at the robins egg blue sky, scattered with these brilliant puffy effervescent clouds, and suddenly, it all begins to fall away.
just because David Byrne is howling "Burning down the house !!" and it just begins plowing through me, moving me, that song, so much that I begin rocking the car, back and forth to the liberating tune; while I lean against the car, holding the pump, leaning on wayyy back onto the car, looking up at the robins egg blue sky, scattered with these brilliant puffy effervescent clouds, and suddenly, it all begins to fall away.
The acute sense of impossibility. The distress. The struggling with that which
seems to bind .
Suddenly what comes to mind is that Chinese finger trap, remember? Made out of woven bamboo, a cylindrical, helically wound braid. I wonder if it even is Chinese at all.
Thing is, you could put your two index fingers in either side, and if you pulled fast and hard, they would get stuck. Together. Bound. Whereas, if you pulled them apart slowly? After YIELDING? Why they would slide right out. That's life for you. In a nutshell, or a bamboo tube.
As I turn my face to the warm mid-September sun, and watch as several small butterflies flutter far overhead. The smell of the gas wafting past me, as people come and go on this Saturday we have been given, and I settle back in to having a life.
Suddenly what comes to mind is that Chinese finger trap, remember? Made out of woven bamboo, a cylindrical, helically wound braid. I wonder if it even is Chinese at all.
Thing is, you could put your two index fingers in either side, and if you pulled fast and hard, they would get stuck. Together. Bound. Whereas, if you pulled them apart slowly? After YIELDING? Why they would slide right out. That's life for you. In a nutshell, or a bamboo tube.
As I turn my face to the warm mid-September sun, and watch as several small butterflies flutter far overhead. The smell of the gas wafting past me, as people come and go on this Saturday we have been given, and I settle back in to having a life.
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