Paper Beats Rock

   

Such dramatic changes as the season ages. The yin and yang of out back and forth lives is knocked out of balance by the assault of autumn banging on the door before check in time. Hallo? Room not ready!

The week rushes forward after the holiday like a kayak in the rapids. Struggle to stay afloat in the rapids, dodging court, flooded roads, the queasiness of sinus pressure, and  boulders of work strewn everywhere.

Bags half-unpacked, shoes strewn, piles of laundry and dry cleaning, scarves tangling like snakes on the back of chairs.

Tempers simmer then flare, unexpected fireworks. Distemper displays, lashing out, retreating, and then that half-baked resolve to remain hurt though heads hanging at what all the fuss is about.

Do we need another dog? A six year old with eyes of liquid sadness. Dumped at animal control when her owners moved away. A small Bermese Mountain dog,  call name of Jennifer.  Injured leg, bad teeth, matted fur. Eyes of pathos.

Perhaps making inquiries is a wiser course than bringing yet another large dependent into our midst. Not with no one home but the dust bunnies each day.

Art bag abandoned somewhere on the first floor. A shield for a snit, carried against my heart up the stairs.  No questions asked or answered; I have work to do. Nose slightly tilted, feelings bruised.

I worry about being mad. I worry about these evenings and nights. I worry about being alone, really alone. I worry about achieving balance as we try to live this half and half life.

Pencil, watercolor block, photos uploaded. The challenge to recompose the scene, select one element and reposition it over another.  Scale, design, line. Concentration.

I worry into the drawing, the evening playing in a loop in the back of my mind, until the constant motion of eyes and hands takes over and blots out all else. Silence quietly fills the room.

Though the straggly, dirty tail of worry quietly curls up in the corner, unnoticed but aware.

Life as a work in progress.