NaPoWriMo #25

Wednesday, April 25, 2018


The alarm goes off and my son walks into the room in his bedtime polo shirt asking if it’s daytime.  I tell him that it is.  “You could knock Ms. Hunt over,” he says.  Ms. Hunt is his pre-K teacher.  I don’t know if he means that I personally could knock her over.  Maybe I could, if I caught her off guard.  She is smaller than me, but younger and has the look of a scrappy girl who played softball but cleaned up nice for the homecoming dance.  I tell him that “You could’ve knocked me over with a feather” is an old-fashioned expression for saying you were surprised.  He asks me to repeat it, looks at me in a measuring way, and then says, “Can I have my audiobook now.”  

At the yoga workshop, we meditated on each chakra to test it for relative speed, direction, and tone.  I thought my heart chakra was surely fine, but when I got there, the image that came up was my heart on ice, like the terribly sad almost-end to ET when they think he’s dead.  My heart, like ET, was covered up and disturbingly still.  But like ET, it started to glow again, faintly from under there.  Before school drop off, I spritz lavender spray on my sternum, thinking it will wake me up.  “Maybe this will wake my heart chakra,” I think.  Wake up, ET.  

I might as well move to California. 


After school drop off, I take to my bed.  The other boy I live with is angrily cleaning out the bathroom cabinet on the other side of the wall.  “Lotta crap in here,” he says, stuffing my empty antidepressant bottles into a plastic bag and throwing it on the floor.  I take to my bed.  Oh, I said that already.  I go to pick up the thread of what I’d been dreaming, like Gretel.  But you know all the trouble she had.  I’m like the one kid in a gangster movie, I think.  I’m just here in my pants and my turtleneck. My ‘70s hair.  Or I’m the woman from that movie, looking sad and agitated, as per usual, but ready to kill you quick as look at you.  The one who was in the movie about the unhinged housewife … You’re rooting for her and also disturbed, how she’s suddenly yelling at Peter Falk and his construction worker buddies around the table.  They’re just doing their thing, and there she is unaccountably crazy.  She has her reasons.  She’s such a good actor … Gena Rowlands … A Woman Under the Influence… Then I’m asleep again and gone.

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