Wednesday, February 03, 2010

Like clockwork, the end of January comes around and I find myself rolled under by a case of the smash-everythings, wanting to kick everyone who talks about the weather, ever, and then leave town and change my name. Learn to whittle, and start a jug band, maybe. Something other than this routine, all of these same old things. January and I are always wanting to move in opposite directions.

Sleeping, I dream lately of angry miniature crocodiles, thrashing in pools of water in rooms full of people, leaping at throats and biting off fingers. In these dreams no one else seems to notice their missing digits, or how the water all turns red at their feet.

I wonder about the fighting, and when it stops--when we can let go and realize that good enough really is pretty good. How long it will take me to stop fighting against and start going with, how to smooth these fists out of my hands.

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