wicked curve

my day today, is a blur. in fact, most days are like subway trains, blasting by, catching clear glimpses of things that make me reflect; mirror in and out, though that vision is gone and replaced by another, whooosh, just like that. i have moments of hilarity, moments of being buried by work and demands, moments of profound sadness, longing, anger, reverence. i want to sit and write about them when they happen, but this is a roller coaster and you can't just get out at the top or deep in some wicked curve.

yeah, i'm not a fan of reality t.v., or much t.v. and i think this is why. i am living. i am alive an living the intensity of life that leaves me wasted at days end. i like that feeling, being wasted and as if my knee's just might buckle and leave me in a heap on the ground, on the subway platform, the street corner, just inside my own door. i wish it in fact, to just collapse. why is that? what is that push? draw? dark curious place?

i had soda at lunch today. we three, wingnut, me and no-no-i'm-good; we were frustrated by the sheer stupidity of numa-numa. she is all power and no good sense. she's is hardly different from most folks in this, but wingnut and no-no-i'm-good let her draw them in with her stupid ways and they can't make sense of it. i keep trying to tell them that 'sense' is what she lacks, so going to look for it is like the needle in the haystack, except there is no needle and it's hardly fun to flail through hay - pokey, pokey stuff that it is. so before i let their frustrations trigger my own, i announce we will NOT be dining in the PA office today. it's a hot lunch day for us and the cafeteria beckons. I lead us off the floor and even stick my face is ms O's (our dimwitted secretary) and tell her in a maniacal whisper "we're ALL leaving the floor to eat, no PA's for you" and like most of the ridiculous stunts i pull, it is within bounds but outside the expected, and she laughs despite herself in the wake of my departure. Wingnut and no-no-i'm-good are venting, venting like big steam smoke stacks, billowing frustration into the air. i chime in to make smart remarks at numa-numa's expense, but mostly i'm just hungry now. it's almost 2 and we three are starving.

we get food and find a table in the back. i pop the top on my soda-pop and dr pepper trips the sugar switch in my brain; jeckle-work-serious, to hide-imitation-delirious-joke-cracking crack-up. i imitate co-workers, doc's, unit secretaries and random other phrases and voices that just trip them from laughing to crying, beat red faces and tears in the corners of their eyes. it feeds me, that laughter, and i swallow it whole - on and on until we're all laughing, gasping for air.

laughter is good for the soul. it's good for the frustration, it's good for the lungs, the lacrimal ducts, the pent up fear of things we don't say masked as other complaints. it's the pressure release valve and i have cracked it wide open for each of us. we each have a need for this release, and i'm prostrate and pleased to be a source of healing.