Around noon a negative wind washes over me, and I realize what I've forgotten. But it's a quick fix and I'm back on my feet as usual, moving on an elevated plane. Still I feel as if I'm betraying myself. Ruthie is standing in her own world, an epoch long past, but I speed away with her body, moving chaotically to wherever I'm going.
Sometimes I compare myself to others and wonder why they have it and I don't. I get jealous, but then laugh at my irrationality. We can't all be the same. People have told me I'm amazing, and it pierces me like an arrow. Words like that come and go, just like this chapter of my life will come and go. Compliments are nothing to carry with you forever.
When one wave resides, another will follow. What will my next wave be? Will it drag me to my death in the violent swell? My legs are getting tired and weak. I can't stand up in the waves forever.
Today at work I knocked over a glass bottle full of water. It shattered on the concrete floor, and as I bent to clean the mess, a piece cut my hand, ever so slightly, and a thousand memories rushed to provoke me. I held the shards gingerly and wondered what it would be like to die of swallowing ground glass in a drink. I imagine it would feel somewhat like sandpaper grating against my throat. I didn't drink anymore water until after work, for fear of the harsh sound of explosion; panic; everyone staring if only for a moment.
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