Politely declining

Hurting, tired of putting my usual brave face on everything, I let myself literally moan once tonight. It didn't help, so I didn't repeat. I found one half of a pain pill from an old prescription, added a xanax and have finally received a respite from the knee. I just don't like the way that it makes the rest of the mind and body feel.

Wiped out from turning on the extroversion all week, I retreated into silence tonight and basically just said no to every request I've received tonight. I haven't been bitchy for a nice change of pace, but I've simply refused to take care of the little needs that the family expects me to attend. That has felt selfishly good, and I, of course, have had some twinges of guilt. They were just twinges though, and I've let them pass.

All of this has left me with a strange combination of feelings -- the torpor of medication, a need for silence and solitude that could easily turn to anger if it's not met, an anxiety about the activities and travel waiting me tomorrow, frustration that I'm hopelessly ill prepared for what we have to do. The womanchild's Destination ImagiNation team is going to the state finals tomorrow. I don't know where our hotel is located yet. I don't know where the college is where the competition will be held. I haven't packed. I haven't done the laundry. All I know is when I have to be at these places I can't find yet, that I still have to work tomorrow, and somehow I will manage to get everything together.

If it were all up to me, I'd still hit the road tomorrow, but I'd do it alone. I'd like a weekend in a cabin on a lake somewhere, just me, a short stack of books and a notebook, and a walking stick. Makeup, carefully coordinated attire, the Palm and Daytimer would be left behind. I'd want a place private enough to let off a scream or two without worrying anyone and where my appearance doesn't matter. I want a place where I can skip stones on the water's surface. I want a place where I can build a small fire and stare into the flames. I want a place where I can see hawks and owls flying.

I don't fully understand my attraction to these predators, but it's there. I'm a woman who loves my softness and for whom emotional peace and comfort are highly held values, but I'm drawn to these birds of hunting acumen, symbols of war and wisdom. I love their power, poise and grace. I love that they're beautiful and not cute. Whenever I see an owl or a hawk in flight, it's a vicarious experience of freedom without apology. Seeing those words, instead of just hearing in them in my head, has brought me around to something yet again. I love their boldness.

I know that I can't have my private excursion, not yet. Responsibilities must be met. I must be practical. I have to order my day in a check off list progression to handle it all with a semblance of calm, instead of the panic that's just lurking (thanks to the medication) instead of building. I am not free, and I'm not sure I want all the solitude that comes with true freedom. Too much being alone is as dangerous for me as too many connections and obligations to other people.

I may not have a fire, but a candle dipped in frankincense oil is burning on my desk. The fragrance is as soft as a dream, and the candlelight is dancing on my ball of calcite. Thunder is off somewhere in the distance and a hint of ozone is coming through the open window. A storm is lurking tonight, and I'm glad it's outside instead of inside me. I could be hectic and hurried tonight, but I'm simply refusing. Tomorrow will be soon enough.