Weight of the World
photo collage C. Ascher
I’m experiencing some difficulties due to a temporary problem with
structural integrity. It’s making me out-of-character jumpy. I have one
cartilage-less knee that needs replacing, another feeling abused and acting up
in solidarity, and a shoulder that wants to freeze because it resents the extra
workload. They conspire to keep me up at night, sometimes solo, taking turns to
yell and scream, sometimes throwing temper tantrums all together. Not one is
the forgiving kind; not one accepts to be eased with pills, massages, hot water
bottles or snacks.
Last night was the worst. I spent long, tortuous hours failing in my
attempts to find a position that might please even one of the complainants. I
ended up pacing the halls, moving from couch to chair to couch, standing at the
windows staring out into the darkness, envious of all those people sleeping in
the still, quiet houses I saw.
As if all that were not bad enough, there was this bird, see. I love
birds. This one sat somewhere right near my house, seemingly just outside my
window. A small bird, I think, and it chirped. It didn’t sing, I swear it was
tone deaf. It chirped, chirp, chirp, chirp, pause, chirp, chirp, chirp, pause
chirp, chirp, no pause chirrrrp, chirp, chirp, chirp, pause … It didn’t do this
at sunrise. It didn’t do this while other birds were around to answer it. It
didn’t do this because it stood any chance at all of attracting a mate. No. It began
sometime around three am and continued manically on and on until I imagined
grabbing an elephant gun and going to find it.
Where are cats when you need them?
It must have sensed my mood, because just as, in desperation, I stuffed
my ears with enough bathroom paper to look like a rabbit, it stopped. I didn’t
believe it at first. I was sure it was part of a diabolical plot to drive me to
distraction. With trepidation, I pulled out the big plugs of paper. Silence It
as 4:15 am. If it hadn’t been for my joints I might have gotten some sleep.
There is nothing for it but to turn the whole thing into some kind of
artwork. I just have to be able to think. And my joints have to let me.
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