Stephen King’s stories are set in New England. He lives securely in Bangor, Maine behind a ghoulish spidery cast iron gate. We reside in the daddy-long-legs open woods of Massachusetts. Unfortunately, last night I was also fenced in. I sat at the very center of a packed movie house for the release of IT.
To say my husband is a Stephen King fan is a huge understatement. Richie has been a member of his book club for over 30 years and the volumes are meticulously maintained in Richie’s ‘King cave’. Richie also archives the related DVD’s in our living room. When winter comes and the roads are closed off, he exercies his sense of humor by rewatching The Shining. Richie’s movies, bookshelves and chef knives, must remain untouched, like the penguin in Misery. Our long-loved family pets are even buried on the hilltop behind our house; their tiny headstones include chiseled names and the spot is referred to as Pet Sematary.
I share this background to make a point about our theatre seat selection. It wasn’t to see Jack and Wendy, or Annie and Paul or Louis and Rachel. Poor Danny. Poor Sheriff Richard. Poor Gage. We sped down the the highway to be the first to arrive at our 7:00 viewing. We ensured we were first to walk-in and selected the middle chairs, in the center row, to watch a psychotic clown. Poor Georgie. Poor me.
The theatre filled in around us while we focused on trivia and popcorn. The noise quieted to hushed tones and candy wrappings when the previews started. Just after the first scene, the woman behind me sneezed twice, without a hankie. It was the one night I decided to put my long hair in a bun. The film was both in front of me and on my neck.
I mentally tried to brush it off. Physically, without a napkin or tissue, I couldn’t wipe it away. Psychologically, knowing Pennywise would get me if I tried to walk out alone, I didn’t dare move.
Beverly’s terrifying bathroom scene brought an exploding sink at the exact moment two more rounds of nasal fluid hit my bare neck. Surround sound has nothing on spray-a-vision. I could have shit my pants and taken a shower in that red bathroom.
My combination of fear and anger set off dopamine in my brain and I finally thought enough to slink down in my chair.
At this point, I was as contorted as Pennywise coming out of the closet.
I couldn’t leave. It was Stephen King. I didn’t want to complain. Richie had been waiting months to see this movie. I stayed and became my own horror show.
I went through the roof when fake Georgie transformed at the well. When Pennywise showed his teeth, sneezes five and six flew across the top of my head. The insides, and outside, of my body was completely terrorized.
Pennywise killing in the sewer system was fictional horror at its best but still didn’t compare to the terrorizing moisture I tolerated as a human tissue. The Maine events were set due North but I know my health is going South.
Most people that know and love me will tell you that I take time to wrap a lovely gift. This hobby of mine is an over the top ceremonial process, like a young woman taking the day to beautify herself for prom. My arsenal of supplies includes a plethora of gift wrap, unique adornments and miles and miles of curling ribbon. I create folds like an origami expert, press seams like the owner of a dry cleaning store and my bow application would make any dressmaker proud. My curling abilities should be included in the decorated Olympic sport. I equate the peace I get from wrapping gifts to the cup of tea my husband enjoys at the end of a long day. It is time spent with a calm and settling companion.
Last week I rented a moving van, drove two hours to pack a campus apartment with my daughters, drove another two hours back to unpack the van with my youngest and then returned said van. On the way home, I ran several local errands in my own car, had a late dinner with the family, cleaned the kitchen and then packed my bags for our graduation and 21st birthday celebrations. I was tired from all the preparations but was also excited for the days ahead. When the house went quiet, I had my own pre-celebration by wrapping the last graduation gift, adorning others with ribbon and using cards from extended family to make a decorative arrangement on top of our bedroom dresser.
I climbed into our bed exhausted but pleased with myself. The fruits of my labor looked gorgeous and I couldn’t wait to present the few carefully chosen gifts to our daughters.
We woke in the morning and found sunshine to pack the car…..and cat puke all over the graduation gifts and cards.
All that time and heartfelt preparation went right out the window. The discarded emotions were accompanied with a bag full of gift wrapped throw-up, slimy colored ribbons and soggy envelopes. Throwing it all out was very ceremonial.
There was no time for a redo.
It was ultimately a presentation of ripped packaging, bent cards and soggy cash. Perhaps the cats had wanted to add their own embellishments to our lovely gifts?
I awake feeling both exhausted and restless. Regardless, I feel the need to work but have such low energy, even getting the mail seems like a bad idea. The mailbox seems too
My body is so tired, it feels like I walked from New England to Mississippi today. Actually, I think I was dragged there on my back because it is sore as hell.
When I arrived on the Mississippi plantation, the devil filled me with a sack full of cotton bolls. I swear even my belly button is sore and dehydrated. My insides are so dry I wonder how my nose can drip. Any mucus that finally develops must be coming from my lungs. My chest is tight, like a barge pushing against the tide, trying to pull every part of my body out of misery and into a better place. I try to put on a brave face but it is under pressure too.
My body is imploding.
My reaction is to counterattack and explode onto the page.
I soak up the sunshine
and enjoy the breeze.
My mind cannot rest
And my body hurts,
so I work on my soul.
I’m finally wide awake and am content and grateful. I feel the need to send my body rest because ignoring that letter of the law seems like a bad idea. My spirit is alive and He is
One day at a time –
that is the pace of grace.
I hear it again and again.
Always starting the same way…
At times it’s even sad…
and always needing to be the center of attention.
It’s annoying at best.
Get a tissue and get over it.
You’re just a runny nose.
This is how I think while watching others come and go as I sit in the hospital waiting room –
* To learn you have to wear a cast for four months – tough break!
* Educate yourself about the impact of a wisdom tooth extraction…
* An inspiring life motto for a blood type – B positive.
* To know it only took one – “Oh, baby!” to get pregnant.
* I love the expression – “pins and needles”; I’m a seamstress.
* My uncle is needy but I didn’t want him to have knee surgery!
* It’s depressing to know my sister is bi-polar.
* I get tired of people asking me if I have M.S.
* There is nothing artistic about a blood draw.
* The wheels to his car were speeding and now he’s in a wheel chair.