The long wind down

On the last day of spring I walked to the lake in the morning, just past 5. It was light like it had been that way all day. I’d been up since 4, with the sounds of birdsong and fans running, my mind doing the same. Dawn said she heard a story about ‘high-functioning anxiety’ and it sounded just like me. It felt better to put a name to it, to explain why I was such an uptight ass. “Do you get to work early every day, dressed nicely, hair combed just so? Do you bite your nails and stress out over small things, and then soothe yourself with alcohol? Are you easily irritated by children, or your loved ones…?”

When I got back from the lake I did the same routine as I do every day: I took a cold shower, got my lunch ready, set the air conditioning, said goodbye…parked my car, logged on, ate breakfast, went to my 8 o’clock sync. We had a large hole in our backyard we needed to talk to the water department about: a friend thought there could be a water line break nearby causing it. And he said the soil is that way from thousands of feet of glaciers pressing down on it over time, melting, refreezing, weighing it down to a fine, compact consistency.

Lily’s throwing a party at our house in honor of a dead rapper but I’m desensitized by it, I don’t really care. We’re perverted by all we have, and where we live: we must have some kind of disorder to succeed in an environment like this. Sometimes I want to leave it all and move to the country with an old barn and a tape deck where I can play my Smiths cassettes and be left alone, to just write, and unwind.

Dawn and I sat out back in the sun with our Aperol spritzers watching a bald eagle circle above our house. Dawn got the cat inside, and then the eagle spiraled out of view, making a coiling pattern as it did. I can’t sleep this time of year, and it’s driving me nuts: with all this energy from the sun, it’s like my battery’s overcharged.

Maybe our summer solstice is like reaching the peak of a long mountain trek and tomorrow, we finally start the long wind down.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in Memoir, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to The long wind down

  1. Old Sol hangs north at meridian height three days before receding. There’s the buzz

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ksbeth says:

    and don’t forget the intense moon energy right now –

    Liked by 1 person

  3. walt walker says:

    The sun. He is a smarmy, grinding bastard.

    I read something interesting the other day. It suggested that if the moon can raise and lower the level of oceans, of course it has an affect on our bodies, since most of us are half water.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Have you run that pic before? It’s magnificent. I think I remember it or one just like it.

    Nobody deserves do die but that guy was a bad example. Thinning the herd.

    Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I did run the photo before! And you remarked on it then, and I said “Rothko,” and you said like “Yeah-ko,” and it was great. Don’t you love this? We have a legacy now! It started for me with you talking about that dog biting you and me getting so angry at your dog. Or at least that’s what I remember. “Thinning the herd” is well put. Glad you like the photo; it’s from the Pacific coast (my favorite place to camp) and those are sea stacks, which always remind me of molars.

      Like

  5. rossmurray1 says:

    I need to take that test.
    I can’t think of a single celebrity, past or present, for whom I’d throw a memorial. Even when I was a teen and it all meant something.
    Glad to catch up.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Hey, thanks for doing the Bill-a-palooza thing again! Woo hoo! How long has it been, we’ve been kicking around like this? I could figure it out but it would take too long. Have a memorial for me when I’m gone, and a glass of lemon seltzer. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  6. Lynn Love says:

    I get the whole lack of sleep, buzzy light-fuelled irritation thing.
    And I know a few people who share your hyper sensitivity. Researchers think that you were useful folks in the past when tribes and communities needed people who were sensitive to noise, changes in light, movement – you were the meerkat look outs for your kinfolk, valued by the tribe. Of course, in these days of noise and bustle and too much f***ing information, those traits are rewarded by overload.
    I’m with you and Ross on the rapper party, especially as I age and really accept that all things end – even rap!

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ah, hyper sensitivity! Nicely put. I read your comment first thing in the morning today, in bed (which I rarely do) and was so nice to hear your voice and kind words. Made sense, sounded good, and always nice to hear from you. Thanks Lynn. Tweakers unite! — Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Gosh I enjoyed this. The tension between being wound up and the need to wind down.

    Highly charged introverts can be a pain in the ass to live with. Or so I’m told.

    Like

Leave a comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.