Summertime Sadness…to some degree

FullSizeRender (14)

Today was really, really, sticky. If there was an aerial view of us driving around in the Costco parking lot, – it would have brought absolute embarrassment to me. Shameful. I stopped in the middle of the shopping mayhem and screamed at the top of my lungs, realizing soon after my back window was wide open. I parked. Only to move to another parking spot to scream again. Then I cried. I cried and cried and screamed. I moved again to a different parking spot further from the mega box store, removed my glasses, turned to my kids and asked them with streams of tears running down my face, “How are we going to fix this? What are we going to do?” In the hopes my three children could provide some sort of child like faith answer or at least some kind of divine insight, but the only thing that came out of Nola’s mouth was, “We can’t.”

We can’t. We can’t fix this. So after apologizing, I put my sunglasses back on, reapplied my lipstick…and we went into Costco as if nothing happened. This is how we do it. We move through the motions, the noise, and the blurry expressionless faces of endless shoppers, collecting and gathering for their families, themselves, or for others maybe. Habitual cruise control. Habitually cruising through life, with the mistake of thinking we are in some-what- some-sort-of control…but we’re not. I can’t control my outbursts, my moods, or the continual chatter in my head. I can’t control the random looks my children give me, glancing secretly from the corner of their eyes to see how I am doing, questioning amongst themselves why I have inhaled or exhaled more deeply than normal, or what I  am doing when I place my head against the wall or lie myself on the floor to try to ground myself. The film script I see, read, and hear continually in my head…I try to silence it. I try…

But silence doesn’t really exist. To somehow numb the relentless scenarios or wordplays in my head, I decided to run this evening. I ran fast. I ran hard. I ran with head phones blaring songs of bubble gum and pop culture,  hoping it would somehow break through the depths of my dark thoughts or the endless questions I have incessantly entangling themselves like a morning glory nightmare, but it was all to no avail. I can’t run from this. I am in this untamed mess, being reshaped, repaired, and my God I pray, some-how, being restored.