Redneck Shaman

I was relaxing with my husband the other day.  We were reclining on our bed enjoying postcoital relations. I was proud.  I had done a lot of work to make the bedroom an oasis of love. The air was permeated with the smell of Tahitian flowers, there was a splash of yellow on the bedspread to add brightness to the gray of winter. The bathroom and fixtures were gleaming with cleanliness. The sun was shining brightly through the window in a stronger than the usual weak sunlight of winter. We connected.  Well, I thought we had anyway. Maybe no so much.  I am very sensitive to his body language and when he started getting melancholy, I didn't understand. Then he said when it got warmer, he was going to help me take care of the cars and whatnot. I looked and saw what he saw and all I could think is "Darling, you are looking out of the wrong window."

I can't sleep and what I do when I can't sleep...is write. I am confused and broken and more than a little feral. Where did it start?  When did it start?  Am I righteous in my anger or just angry? Is anger my new default?  What about fear? Where did the capacity for compassion and love go? Was it stolen?  Am I truly crazy? At the end of the day, do I  like myself? I was woken up by a song playing in my head this morning.  I'm smart.  I know the answers to these questions, yet I can't prove it definitively. In this day and age if there isn't empirical evidence, then there is doubt.