Breeze

The bedroom is quiet. Sunlight, vanishing with the evening, filters through the blinds, casting shadows for me to count. I listen to the silence without counting the shadows and quickly my thoughts move on to something else. From one thing to another they move. As soon as I can focus, the next topic enters my head. The silence in the room only amplifies the noise in my head. The winds of change rouse me like a bad-hair day.

For fast-acting relief, try slowing down. ~Lily Tomlin

It’s no doubt I’m under stress. The worries of the world have plagued me , dragging down the quiet fires of hope and leaving me stranded in the depths of uncertainty. Over six-hundred fellow co-workers were laid off at my company. It was an event that many co-workers describe as “round one” because they postulate a soon-to-arrive round two. The thought has me restless and tired.winds

I should be accustomed to unemployment. Well, not that accustomed, but well enough to know it an unpleasant experience that I’d like to avoid at all costs. Food & shelter suits me just fine and, while I’ve been without employment before, food has been ever-present and my chief desire remains that it stay bountiful. [In my head] the unemployment office exists only in far away places from myself: Slovakia & such. It should stay that way.

That far away place draws nearer in my head each day and, adamantly, I don’t like it. Do I scream? Do I cry? Do I shout? Pray more, pray less? I don’t know. The reality is I have no control in life and the winds blow where they may. Sometimes I enjoy the winds in my face and other times I loath the thought of tidal change messing up my ever glorious hair. What’s a man to do?

We try to pretend we have control and, while pretending, we hoard all the money we can to protect ourselves from the aftermath of a missing paycheck. If hope can’t be our security, at least a few more dollars can delay the inevitable. If we save enough, if we’re lucky enough, we can afford a hope that sets us beyond the time frame of our fears. The cycle repeats itself in our heads until eventually it becomes the systematic routine of what we call the day to day grind. Sooner or later, it stresses you out. It grinds you.

A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. ~William Henry Davies

With a few deep breaths, I don’t feel any better. I know there’s nothing I can do but wait. Somehow though, knowing what I can’t do adds a bit more to what I know I don’t know and that thought makes me feel better [at least I know something]. Ever wise, ever stronger. I stare at the ceiling until the dark gray forces me to close my eyes and I take another deep breath. This time, I’m going to feel the wind on my face.

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