At recess in 5th, maybe 6th grade, I used to jump rope double-dutch. If you’ve never held your hands up to catch the rhythm of the ropes, rushed into the eye of the slapping lasso, stutter-stepped until panting, then raced out to survive the whip of the cord, you’ve missed quite a thrill, as well as a superior walk around the schoolyard.
The big talk is that Marie Kondo, the sparker of joy and the decluttering master, has denounced the craft after delivering baby numero trey. That’s why I only had one kid; I love organizing too much.
My writing chops are dull. Am I slipping, falling off the cliff’s edge, never to return? Is it time to accept a trip down to the minor leagues?
While waiting for inspiration, it’s as if my mind goes around the house and, at random, picks up things, “Wanna talk about this?” “No? How about this?” It’s annoying like Donkey is to Shrek when they first meet. That reference comes courtesy of an earlier movie viewing.
I need attitude adjustments; those face slap shocks where my high horse reduces me to an insignificant ass.
I had a valuable exchange with a friend about death. And it’s got me thinking; about love and connection and how when feeling secure with others I can sometimes feel unsafe. Unsafe, like my body fills with apprehension, my thoughts target worst-case scenarios, and my emotions mutate to fear and panic.
Until I become conscious of how tremendously painful my mom’s death was and the ongoing consequences it has on my relationships, I’ll stay stuck forever, a tiger gnawing at its paw snapped in a trap. I looked up traps and felt sick seeing they’re only $13 to buy online. Poor effing animals.
Anyway, it’s over. I’ll tell myself this. I have a lot of life left, and perhaps, if I do this right, I can finally heal this thing once and for all.
PS If you haven’t read the children’s book “The Dinosaur That Pooped A Planet!” – Good! It’s not for the faint of heart.