A cousin who would qualify as an aunt started a Closed Group on Facebook titled “Word A Day Writing Exercise”. Since I am articulate online, she invited me. The bulk of members are middle-aged non-writer types flexing their first-person essayist muscle. Since I’m a troll, I post things like this:
Word of the Day: Cemetery
The moments kept passing through me and I felt like this would never end. I created my fort in the playroom for this reason. I made it on a lark, in a maniacal fugue to actually produce something I could call my own. Despite their willingness to jostle about on anything they needed to use for their fun, my kids knew not to mess with Mommy’s “Weird Fort.” I never restricted them from entering my gussied up refrigerator box, but they just knew like they know not to cut up in church.
I guess it was because Mitch and Virginia could see me (on numerous occassions) lurch through their Marble Runs & plush Curious George dolls & Legos & stauesque Elsa dolls and step all over them on my way to my black, spray painted fort.
Whenever it becomes too much, I just sit in that black box and wait for my feelings to wash over me. I sit in what I’ve started telling myself is “My Office” for hours on end. I forget to turn off the range in the kitchen. I leave the phone off the hook with my husband still on the call. I will leave the water running in the utility room.
The same way dropped glass changes the mood of a room, Mommy “going to her ‘Weird Fort’” and sitting for hours perks my kids’ emotional ears to the fact that they need to check around the house. I don’t care. Not then at least.
And there is no praying inside My Office. There is no meditation inside My Office. There is no tranquility inside My Office. It’s simply a dark hole I have to fall into so I don’t enter my own emotional one. Only when I exit my catatonia do I seek a zen space to “stay focused” on being a “good mother & stay-at-home wife.”
I used to cry in there. I used to shriek in there. I used to pound the walls of My Office. I don’t anymore. I await only for this dark womb to enlighten me to a new birth. A new dawn. A new day. And I pretend like I’m feeling good.