Butterfly of Night

I always think I’d like to write this in advance.  But I am in a board meeting….

The elipses signifies that I am not writing this in advance of my end of day deadline or in advance of having to write this after work as is per usual.  Yep.  I am right here on the couch, in my pajamas (which are so unsexy, they almost invert one’s extremities) and with my frozen bare toes sticking out, I am trying to cobble together five hundred words about how I sat on my arse and took notes all day for a meeting, went back to my job for forty-five minutes to check my email and then went back to the same hotel for a wrap-up celebratory dinner wherein I had a margarita, got offered more or less a job, started talking way too much and finally got myself delivered home.   Then, my boss suggested that I wipe off my car.  But in my thin, awkwardly sized and worn trenchcoat, no gloves, hanging on to my purse and computer bag, the operation didn’t quite go very far.  I swapped hands once one started feeling numb and then I realized that my house was warm and right there so I gave up and came inside and we are essentially where we began: without a form or a plan or a way to get the word count up.

“You have an active imagination and a keen mind.”  While that’s true, that’s really not a fortune, fortune cookie.

I just.  Don’t want to think about it.  It was too positive.  The meeting went too well.  And now we have to live up to all these expectations.  They’re planning a work trip to Italy which I won’t be going on, but may raise some money for us.  They’re talking about these little things which will need some administration.   I’m smiling and nodding along and it’s fine.  It is.  I’m glad that everyone’s thinking constructively and inventively and actually moving out of the staid material that sometimes is our basis for projects.  That said, the understanding is that we keep everything going we have going and we add in all these new things.

I don’t know.

I woke up this morning, with the sky that color, you know, that nefarious proto-dawn illuminated by human mechanics and not the natural approach towards the sun, the gray purple that hangs as though you are trapped beneath it.  And all day long, cramps from hell wracking my body and nobody, I assume, being the wiser, I dreaded tomorrow.  Tomorrow, I was sure, I don’t have a ride and tomorrow, I was just as sure, I was going to slide into another car and kill and destroy the remainder of the rest of my pitiful life.  My psychic boiling point was hit, and I seethed and roiled and every toxic thought just settled in my belly.

I was a mess.  The roads are clear if not dry and if not perfectly safe.  I am still petrified which is ridiculous.  I am still cramped.    I am not ready for bed, though bed is ready for me.  I should go there before I start believing any of this.

Because stranger things happen every day.