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Hollow-Holler

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November 08, 2005 - 8:50

Every morning in recent memory is greeted with dread. Including this morning, which doesn't feel like a memory yet.
The initial throes are mostly suppressed with cognizance, the simple reassurance that I've still got my blue tights, or that Sean is awake in the house, and bears me no ill will. Generally, I am fine through the morning performance: the bleary grimace I will give to my jovial roommate when he introduces me to my first human interaction of the day, the flattening of sleep-plumed bangs, scrummaging change for bus fare, the ride itself.
The trepadation returns once I have settled into the chair I work in. What would we do without chairs? Throughout the day it's manic doldrums. I am anxious to clutch the ankles of any minute evidence that It is worth it, and will ride on it for a spell. Any omen of my own device i.e. 'if this paper falls after it's faxed, I will be OK.' or simple pleasure i.e. toffee on my desk, will stoke my serotonin to operative heights. In between, it's like I am frozen, or lockjawed, but in my center there is frantic activity.
But hey, by whatever impetus, the silver lining that accompanies this anxiety is incredible posture while sitting. And sometimes, as the day fades what I feel goes away, and is replaced by a relatively welcomed despondency.
In my home, I can tuck the apprehension away by labeling my items, or manipulating little scenes, or drawing words. I don't resent this relief, though the fashions in which I assemble distraction leave something to be desired. Company helps me.
And surprisingly, as bleak as I can often be, at the pivot, there is assumption that this won't last for much longer.

I think, because it just can't