I'm Scratching This Itch and I Can't Stop

I woke up in the middle of the night, already raking my nails over the lump forming on the bump at the top of my foot that only Fred Flintstone and I could call an ankle bone. I kept scratching the little bite because I knew the second I stopped it would be agony. I scratched and I scratched, it was nearly euphoric. If I stopped, if I stop scratching, if I stop running my nails over this little bite, agony.

Eventually I had to stop.

And, then I laid there, awake. Itching. Thinking. Knowing that there was some sort of metaphor in here somewhere but I was too tired to grasp it.

I think I'll just keep scratching.

A Word About My Mother

In honor of Mother's Day (a completely fictitious holiday obviously created by the greeting card people, that I partially depend upon for a paycheck) I'd like to take a moment to thank my mother...

For never REALLY selling me to the gypsies.

I mean, you threatened it a lot and there was that one time you put me out on the front stoop with a sign that said Five Bucks(which I thought was a little low but whatever), and then that guy with the van that had blacked out windows tried to actually pick me up, but you stopped him.

And that? Was awesome.

Thanks Ma.

Hurry Up And Calm Down

For right now, the buzzing has stopped.

The part of me, inside, that seemingly vibrates and buzzes until I can't stand it anymore. I don't know if it's in my brain or in my body and I don't really know it's there until it's gone.

The sadness is quiet again.

The ache that makes me burst into tears. The longing that makes me explain away my watery eyes, all day long.

The veil of calm has been pulled back down. My stomach doesn't tell me to eat all day long. To eat and eat, because something, anything has to fill that hole. The void, the dark, buzzy nothing that is just always behind it all.

It's like a heavy, weighted blanket has been thrown over me. Snuggle down into it, allow it to comfort you.

And, I will.

I am.

I am comfortable again... for now. Snuggling in it before it gets ripped off me again. Yanked back from my sleepy, dopey head, ruffling my already ruffled hair.

I'm tossing and turning in it. Trying to get every inch of the cool before it becomes warm and itchy again.

Because it will.

Itch.