laundry life-line

I am sitting at the computer watching the time count down until my laundry is dry. Then I can unload it. Then I can run away. My laundry is the only thing holding me to this spot right now--to this place physically and metaphysically. I'm letting go and slipping, and I have about 11.46 minutes until my last finger slides off the edge to which I am holding. Then, so help me, I am running away to the Quasimodo of Pretty, a park, the zoo, Disneyland, somewhere. Make that 9.78 minutes; I had to look up how to spell Quasimodo.

Last night I was country dancing and having such a marvelous time that my roommates noted on how much different I am than I used to be. Next minute, I turned around and walked out. I would have walked home except for my fear of dark roads and bad men with mustaches, so Cassidy escorted me. I was too restless to get ready for bed and too indolent to do something fun. All at once my enjoyment disappeared. My body figured out that something was bothering me before I did. It told me to go home, and then my emotions caught up. It took my mind another day before I knew what was wrong.

During that said day, I stayed up way too late, slept in later, skipped all but dance class--the only one I wanted to skip--and narcotized myself with five episodes of Gilmore Girls. Five. You know, it may have been six. Finally I mentally shook myself as hard as I was able. The difficulty lay in that my head was stuck somewhere in a gigantic pile of sand. I saw what I was doing, cutting my legs out from under me, indulging in laziness like a form of substance abuse. Were I a drinker, I'd be on my way to AA (I am legal now). As it is, I found a sudden need to do at least one thing productive.

That's where the laundry comes in. Five loads. And in 2.21 minutes those loads will be gone, and I will forget that reality exists. I will stop loving classes, I will stop going to my job, I will stop even caring what day of the week it is. All because what? Because I am in denial, mad that I don't have better control over my emotions.

The alarm is going off now. Maybe I'll wash a load of towels. 42 minutes. In 42 minutes I'll let go.