My Situation is Unstable

My situation is unstable, like a cone balanced on its point. I am so comfortable that I can’t feel my skin. I am at perfect thermal equilibrium with my surroundings while simultaneously enjoying a pain free morning. No joint discomfort or other age related feelings. It is weird. I am no longer sure where I leave off and the rest of the world begins. It’s a wonderful feeling though, to feel this good, to not know how big you are. I could be as big as an oak, as small as a bean. My thoughts seem expansive, oversize. Nothing seems impossible because I feel a part of it all, of everything. I have no body so I must be everywhere and everywhere must be here. My spirit leaps and I feel intense joy, like a caged setter freed to the autumn woods and the thrill of the hunt. I am sure this will not last too long and I am right. The air conditioner comes on and the cool breeze from the bedroom duct redefines my edges as I lie here on my bed. I smile and press the back of my hand against my wife’s rump, cool and firm, a pleasant reality. Her soft breathing reassures me. I want to wake her and tell her how, for a few precious seconds, I lost my body, that I know how a soul must feel, but she wouldn’t understand - no one would – well, maybe a dead person - but I only understand that I want to feel that way again and I know that I will. But I am not ready for that now, not for a long time. I have too much to do. I have to get a shower and go to work and walk the dog and make love to my wife. All good and pleasant things.

For the first time in months, I am looking forward to the day. Finally, no problem seems insurmountable, no worry worth the time. I turn on the shower and smile waiting for the hot water to make its way from the basement. This morning it takes just as long as ever, but I do not get impatient. Instead, I focus on the wonderful feeling of the cool water flowing over my wrist. I step in and lather twice, just for the fun of it, just to watch the suds swirl down the drain and smell the hint of the well. When I finish, I linger while the warm cascade erodes what may be left of any pessimistic thought or subconscious dread. I towel off vigorously, seeing the possibilities for the new and improved me that I am planning, that I know I can achieve. Diet, exercise – a new self-discipline – all doable and already begun. All of my long-shelved personal goals and projects now line up and salute, waiting their turn to submit to my inspiration and my energies.

While I shave I marvel at how a few moments in a different place, no, a different state, could bring on this spiritual effervescence. But I do not question it; I do not doubt it. My challenge is to not lose it, and I will not. It feels too good.

My bride stirs, lifts her head, sees me grinning at her in the mirror. What are you grinning at? I am happy. About what? My body disappeared and my soul exploded. It is hard to describe. For a few seconds I felt perfect. Oh honey, you are perfect. The sarcasm slides off. I continue my morning routine.

Downstairs I root in the cupboard for some vitamins I am sure I left years ago. They are gone but I will get fresh ones and take them every day. I do find an old box of Quaker Oats and make myself a bowl of oatmeal. I enjoy the flavor, the warm texture. Heart smart feels good.

My wife clumps down the stairs and chuckles at the oatmeal. She shakes her head and scratches her butt. Must have been some dream she says and opens a Diet Coke. No dream. It was real. All things are possible. What do you want for dinner? I ask. I’ll cook tonight. I’m feeling creative, energetic. Or we could go out. Whatever you wish. Surprise me Romeo. I leave for work.

****

At my office, I spend two hours cleaning the clutter. A new order, things are fresh. I untangle the procrastination pile, sit down and make the phone calls. Old fears are gone and potential conflicts dissolve in the firmness of my voice. Some comment on it, but my voice has not changed, the attitude behind it has.

I work through lunch, not realizing the time. I go to the cafeteria and buy some bottled water and plain yogurt. Hunger feels good for a change. This evening’s workout will be brief but intense. In three weeks I will be up to full intensity, the fat disappearing, muscles and health reappearing. My boss comes up and says he needs to see me before I leave for the day. He has, no doubt, noticed my renewed enthusiasm, perhaps heard from one of the clients I called earlier.

I spend the afternoon organizing my space, planning the week. I stop in my boss’ office on the way out. Come in. Have a seat. I sit, back erect, eye to eye. I might ask for a raise. We need to make some cuts. Sorry. You’ll get a month’s severance. My stomach winces, my face does not. I stand and extend my hand. I understand, I say, but I do not. I turn and leave.

The drive to the gym, so anticipated earlier, is a slog through a bog of renewing self-doubt. But I float on the quicksand, buoyed by the thought of an exercise induced, seratonin high.

In the gym, my immediate troubles give way to the smell of new sweat, the clank of cold iron, the grunts of straining muscle. I start slow, stopping just short of true burn. I want to be sore, but just enough, not in pain. Pain will kill desire and interrupt routine. Inside the squat machine, on the third rep, I feel a slight tic in my lower back. By the time I make the shower I cannot quite stand straight. The spasm is a hot chestnut next to my lower spine.

I struggle to shower, dress, drive home. Struggle to get out of the car and step into the house. Sweat pops out on my forehead as I lean on the breakfast bar dropping my briefcase. It hits the dog. She is sniffing my ankles, tail slicing the air. I kick her away.

A chirping fan belt tells me my wife is home. Her door slams and the garage door grinds its way shut. The mudroom door opens. I try to stand straight. Hi honey. I force a smile. What’s with you? I hurt my back. How? Working out. She hangs her purse on the kitchen chair and kicks the dog away. You’re supposed to start slow. I did. It’s just a muscle spasm. It will be OK. I loosen my tie and take off my sport coat. Sorry about dinner, but I need to ice my back. Can you order a pizza?

My wife orders a pizza and disappears upstairs. I get an icepack from the freezer and sit on my recliner, the cold pack numbing the hot knot in my back. I should tell her that I am unemployed, but I cannot deal with it tonight. Maybe I will never have to deal with it. I have connections. I should get a new job in no time. No, I will wait a few days. I cannot deal with it now.

How you feeling? My wife returns in her baggy sweats. OK. The ice feels good. I’ll be all right. How was your day? Same old shit. The doorbell rings and she retrieves the pizza, fixes herself a plate and settles in front of the TV. I am about to say something but instead I struggle to my feet and get my own dinner. This evening is like so many others. Just more pain.

The day had such potential - like a kitchen match scraping the box, soon to ignite the reserve fuel in my life - the day comes down to this: I lie next to my wife in the dark. She is on her stomach. My back throbs but not bad. The dog snores in her bed. I will sleep later. My hand reaches for its favorite playground. I massage her lower back, gently rubbing the smooth curve of her hips, round and round, up and down. My hand slides down and I squeeze each cheek in turn. Your back hurts, remember? Not too bad. It’s OK when I lie flat. You could get on top. I’m tired. She rolls away and falls asleep.

I lie here waiting. I am not sleepy. My back twitches and my joints ache. I smell of Ben Gay. I am waiting for the feeling. I want it back… tonight. Just like this morning. I am waiting, trying to relax, ignoring my body. It is hot in the bedroom. I can wait. I am a patient man. I think back to this morning – a lifetime away. I want it back. I want my body to go away. I want my spirit set loose again. I want to feel that truth. There is a way. But it is too soon for that. I have tonight. So I wait. But I refuse to wait long.