One week. Tick Tock.<\/p>\n
No matter how hard I intellectually cope, reason, and talk to myself, it’s there.
Looming.<\/p>\n
The anniversary of my dad’s death, this coming Sunday. <\/p>\n
Of course I’ll remember.
But will I remember at 6?
Will I fall apart?
Will I pendulum-swing the other direction?
Unknown. Unknown.
Questions rise like bubbles.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock, TICK TOCK<\/p>\n
Sometimes the ticking is deafening.
At the grocery store.
I gripped my cart hard and wondered,
Is this it? Is this the moment where the glue melts,
the screws break, the dovetails splinter?
What would happen?
Would anyone stop? Or would they reach over me,
Totinos Crispy Pizzas, 2 for $4
(with your Chopper Shopper card)
Would they arrest me? Or just escort me to my car.
When would my clarity reclaim me?
In time to realize the dark humor of a meltdown in Frozen Foods?
Cleanup, Aisle 10.<\/p>\n
But nothing. Just the ticking. And the tocking.
Controlled madness.<\/p>\n
In the top of my brain, at the surface, I know. It will all be ok. OK is general, my brain wants specifics. I worked hard last night to clear my mind, to stop searching, knowing I can’t stop the metronome from ticking, but I can make it softer, so I can get through my life, this week, next Sunday. <\/p>\n