I
see motes floating in the shafts of sunlight that infiltrate my room
between curtain panels. They glimmer like airborne snowy diamonds on
a winter's day. The kind that is impossibly bright and ungodly cold.
The sun above, the snow below. These drifting motes make me think of
winter and smile.
I
see gnats floating up ahead on the trail. They gather in little
clouds and create pockets of nuisance for those on the trail, hikers
mostly. Those on bikes can pass through almost without noticing.
Those of us walking can see them up ahead; waiting, conspiring,
drawing lots to see which try to go up noses or enter ear canals. I
don't know about you, but I hold my breath and duck through as
quickly as I can.
I
see words in my head, floating and whirling. They tie and untie
themselves freely. If I do not or can not pluck them out at the right
time, they are lost. I imagine the inside of my cranium to be like a
cave prone to tornadoes, easy prey to my destructive demons,
resistant to order, dark in the corners.
I
see my plans, my intention, my will float away on the gossamer wings
of social anxiety. Pretty way to put it, but those wings are
razor-edged and controlled by something so much a part of me that it
is impossible to separate from and leave it behind so I can stick to
my plans. The meds help but over all my years I have developed
serious skills that squash the liberating effect that the tiny blue
tablet brings me. It's also bitter as hell. Ironic, since I take my
disappointment out on myself when I succomb to the weakness that
keeps me at home, bitter about missing events and activities.
