Nibbled

April 4

Today, for most of the day, I felt as if I might crumble under the weight of minutiae.

So many little things. I need to make a dentist's appointment. I need to deal with some phone company stuff. I need to get my car smogged, and insured, and registered. I need to do my taxes (and I realized tonight that I don't have a W-2 from the job I had in January; I mean, I'd forgotten about the job, and now I have to call them up, and possibly file for an extension...). I realized I had a parking ticket that I hadn't paid, and when I dug it out from under the mound of paper on my desk I realized it's due tomorrow. I owe people crits, I need to read slush (which I actually enjoy; but I'll leave it in the list, because I'm feeling listy tonight), I should write (I didn't even write a poem tonight).

Marissa felt like she was dragging her brain on a string behind her today. Amily had a whole raftload of bad news for me-- awful things happening to people I know. Like there's something in the air, mal air, free-floating low-grade badness. I hate feeling anxious; it tatters my soul.

It got so I was hunching my shoulders when I walked around, as if I feared something would fall from the ceiling and drive me to the floor, through the floor.

I had coffee. I read a bit of Jim Kelly's Wildlife (large portions of which seem familiar-- I guess he got a couple of short stories out of this novel). I took steps to deal with some of the stuff bothering me. I bought groceries, as my cupboards were bare save for tortillas, clam chowder, pasta and rice. And chocolate syrup. You know-- the staples. So I bought a great lot of food, and proceeded to eat too much and lay on the couch and take deep breaths. I'm about a million miles away from an anxiety attack, but this is still unusual for me-- I usually feel good! And this near-formless dread, this cumulative ickiness... Bleah.

So I sat down for a last e-mail check, prepared to snarl at the inevitable spam and then drop into bed. And I had the most lovely message from a friend, a wonderful letter full of jewels and flowers and kindnesses, and I felt the kinks in my mind loosen as I read her words, the tension leaked out of my shoulders, I began smiling. I wrote her back, and by the time I'd written two paragraphs I was feeling happy, actually happy, all my problems reduced again to their proper proportion in my universe-- that of the insignificant, the surmountable, the unperturbing.

Some words did that. Some words, with some good clear fine thoughts behind them.

It's magic, my darlings, this thing we do with our keyboards and our pens, it's absolutely magic, and don't let anyone convince you differently, no matter how loud their voices or how dark the hour.

...being bored to death was sort of like being nibbled to death by ducks.

-Joe R. Lansdale, from "Night They Missed the Horror Show"