overstimulation

okay, this is the readjustment period i'm talking about here. the day after life on the road where our bodies run on solar power. up with the sunrise, down with the sunset...

where's my watch? who cares. what day is it? i don't know. that's how life is when you live outside and make friends with early bird robins each morning. when your clothes smell like campfire and your nails stay dirty and you eat your food with your fingers anyway.

so, that was then. this is now. the slow readjustment to life. reality. cause this is reality ya know? life is not vacation. vacation is not real. it's reprieve. and that's all good.

maybe i should explain that i really have a wicked sense of humor. it's actually very dry. comes from my father's side of the family. sometimes it's so dry it chokes up my throat and brings tears to my eyes while i laugh. but that is life. (how i see it anyway.. i don't really have some grotesquely morbid view of the world, i swear!) i think of Townes VanZandt answering the question of how many types of music there are. he said "there are two: blues and zippety-do-dah" and that kinda sums it up for me. just cause i see the humor in the blues doesn't make me depressed. some people get lifted up from feeling so much reality. atleast i do. this is life, right? life is funny even when it's blue.

so, like it was today with the overstimulation.

i'm walking around in some bizarro world where everything is misplaced. nothing is as it should be. razors are left on the counter within reach of curious and probing toddler fingers. lighters find their way into size 4T shorts on their journey "back to daddy". some mornings are just like that. today is magnified cause i haven't been in this life for 8 days. i've been on vacation. and remember, vacation isn't real.

we were supposed to leave 15 minutes ago to meet some friends for a hike down to the creek, but river is running naked and free and i feel like i'm wandering the desert in my bathing suit. i'm muttering to myself "i feel like i'm losing my mind" and river repeats my every word. hanging on the one word, 'losing'. as in: "momma, i'm looooooo-zing. loooo-zing. loooo-zing my mind." yeah, kinda like that.

i can't find my swim shorts and well, i'm just not that brave to head out in just my bikini bottoms. river laughs and pats my bum saying "i'm patting your bum" each and every time i bend over to look under yet another pile of clean laundry yet to be folded and put away.

NPR is blasting some chaotic jazz which sets the tone in the kitchen. i try to tune it out, and from the corner of my mind i now hear river saying "yogurt is drippy. help feed me, momma" and i see that he's been busy building some drip yogurt castle on the kitchen table and down into his nakedness. in all the nooks and crannies that remain exposed while he sits contentedly. i get a wet towel for him and with the other hand i take a bite of cereal and notice just one second too late that the milk was, indeed, spoiled.

some mornings are just like that. half naked and sticky. (but not in the good way) some mornings are just overstimulated like a sink full of dirty dishes and not one single roll of toilet paper in the house. it's overstimulating, like driving in the car minding your own business when you come across some orange cones. ok. fine. driver's ed, i remember this. and river is chatting away and the radio is playing your favorite song, then your husband's phone rings and he's talking loud to be heard and the vent is blasting the AC on cold. and well, it's just too much. too much air. too much force. it makes me want to lay down. but i'm driving and these orange cones won't allow that, so i turn down the air until i can breathe again.

so, we're finally in the car. i'm wearing some random shorts that probably are not of the quick-drying material. whatever. i have closed the door to the chaos that is my house on day 2 of returning from vacation. i look down at my travel mug and sigh, wondering if i used that spoiled milk to make my chai. bummer. i hit every red light on the way and wonder why i live in a city anyway. and the next light turns yellow and the car infront of me stops! who stops at yellow lights anymore?! and wouldn't i be happier in some small vermont town, or on the coast of maine. the kind of place where green valleys are spotted with white church steeples or angry waters crash heavily on big rocks.

i was silly to think that once i sat in the car that the racing thoughts would stop, but they don't. one headlight is out. my back left tire needs some air. my tags are expired. and river is telling me the story of the sand dunes "i sat on a cactus, momma. and that hurt my bum. momma? i sat on a cactus and it hurt my bum. it was itchy. and i laid over your legs and you pulled cactus out of my bum. momma? i sat on a cactus in colorado"

and so it goes, and so we drive.

the racing doesn't stop until the shade creeps up where the trees get dense. my feet point us in the direction of the creek. i walk through the field and a swarm of dragonflies surround me in flight. like a fleet of tiny helicoptors who have come to my rescue. to gently lift me up and carry me away from my own funk. it's only then that my mind is silent and we walk hand in hand to the creek.