Restless

Restless,
Wherever you are,
It's somewhere else you want to be
Nothing now is good enough
Wanting what's out of reach
Restless in your body
Restless in your mind
Restless in your soul
Flitting from one idea to the next
Never deeper than getting started
Find your place, restless body
Quiet your thoughts, restless mind
Discover your direction, restless soul

Common Ground 2

It was like a rope went from Amanda's heart to a boulder beneath her feet.  It was tight and strong and she felt like she couldn't move.  Every thought that would have taken her in a direction was tugged back before a step could be completed, her imaginary foot hovered, struggled for a moment, then came back to keep her still, over the boulder.

She thought to move away, but the boulder filled with dollar signs, and she came back.

She thought to clean up, but the boulder filled with question marks about where to start, and she came back.

She thought to read, to nap, to surf the internet, but the boulder filled with guilt, and she came back.

Amanda's mind bounced back and forth, and she raised her foot every time, even when the thought had already proved fruitless, and the short, thick rope bound to the immovable boulder made her come back.

She felt her thoughts panicking, which she knew by experience was followed by a panting, grey hopelessness and, as predicted, tears already pricked her eyes, but a new thought came.

She thought of freedom.  Of sky.  Of lightness.  This time, the boulder did not fill with memories to drag her back.  It did not fill with a to-do list.  It did not fill with guilt.  Amanda thought of freedom without any specific "how" of getting it.  She thought, and she gasped when the rope snapped.

360

Entering online sweepstakes makes me feel as if I'm working towards my future.  As if I am planning for a better life, though I know in reality that the odds of winning are worse than my chances of being struck by lightning, and far less than the frighteningly high odds of being killed by a hippopotamus.

I entered the "big money" sweeps, usually ten thousand dollars and up.  I spend the money in my head, being practically and reserving nearly half for taxes.  One hundred thousand is my favorite fantasy.  Debts paid--such a small portion of the whole, really!  House purchased--once there is no more rent, I would be saving more than five thousand dollars a year; that's taking into account taxes and new insurance and upkeep!  Gifts given--thoughtful, long-lasting gifts, and not frivolous trinkets, either.  I would give a new, used SUV to my parents, with regular maintenance.  It wouldn't be a brand new vehicle, but newer than theirs now.  I would give my brother a duplex--a real fixer-upper.  He could handle the repairs, and he could rent out the other half to pay for taxes.  Finally: savings.  No fancy cars or clothes or jewels or cable TV.  I want to live free.  A garden.  Solar panels.  Freedom.

How many people could say one hundred thousand dollars would change their lives, and those of their families, so completely?  So I enter another sweepstakes, and become one of the hopeful.

336

What is holding you back from the lifestyle you desire?  Money?  Health?  Job?  Family?  No matter your current situation, you CAN achieve your dreams, in less time than you think!  By making small, easily sustainable changes in your life, you will smoothly transition into the person you always knew you could be, with the money, health, job and family of which you've always dreamed.

How?

Your first step is VISUALIZATION.  You need to picture yourself where you've always wanted to be.  Make a list of your desires, and even add pictures.  Post it where you will see it every morning when you awake, and look at it before you leave your bed.  Visualize your ideal life for five minutes every morning.  Now you're well on your way!

296

Of all the lies movies have taught me over the years, I think the worst is that I believed that I could do anything in a reasonable amount of time.  I didn't think that I could do it within the space of a movie--that's ridiculous--but I did believe the movie time suggestion that within my lifetime I could accomplish goals.  Lies.  Dirty, rotten lies.

My days are spent on a treadmill.  My brain, on the shortest treadmill of them all.  Repetition, repetition, repetition.  Nothing accomplished.  Dishes pile up again and again.  Laundry.  Mail.  Shower.  Eat.  Sleep.  Dentist and doctor and optometrist appointments.  Repeat.  Holidays.  Repeat.  The things I dreamed of doing remained out of my grasp for the daily repetition.  My brain rehashed what it wanted and wondered why the hell wasn't I making progress?  I should have accomplished by now!  Where had the time gone?  Why couldn't I get motivated?  Why couldn't I get out of welding to accomplish my dream of being a professional dancer?  What happened to making the band and winning the hearts of millions?  Shouldn't I be able to save Christmas, or teach the town to dance or preserve the human race?  Goddamn movies.  Lies.

295

After rolling over and flipping her pillow for the fourth time, Sara gave it up as a bad job and got out of bed.  She had the feeling that important life was happening without her.  Spending wakeful hours in bed only made her retread the same worn paths to frustration, so she wrapped herself in her comforter and went to her window.

It was unlikely that there would be any activity out on her street.  Sara lived in a quiet suburb, and the sidewalks were rolled up by 9:00 pm, but she couldn't shake that feeling that there was some spark of life just outside her sphere.  Her dresser sat under the window, and if she pushed it back slightly, she could sit, her feet on the baseboard heat, and lean her elbows on the windowsill to look outside.  Despite the cold November night air, she cranked open one casement window and arranged her comforter over her head.  The baseboard heat rose and filled her cocoon while the night chilled her nose and cheeks.

The street was predictably dark and no lights on in the three houses she could see; it was, after all, after two in the morning.  Sara sat and dreamed with her eyes open of adventure.

292

She yearned to go dancing.  Not the kind of dancing most men would think, but the kind of dancing where you mostly get to jump and fling your hair and scream.  The kind of dancing where you shove your fellow dancers and bond by bruising your shoulders.  The kind of dancing where you're sweaty and your clothes come loose and your makeup runs and you need to drink, but you don't notice because you're freaking dancing.

Dee couldn't think of a way to tell him, and her insides did a slow burn that dimmed and dimmed, but never quite went out.

286

It was supposed to be  "name your price" sale, but Sam was still embarrassed to offer the church volunteer her measly three dollars for the paper shopping bag she had filled to overflowing.  Sam sat on one of the old upholstered chairs for sale and looked at her finds.  She tried counting the individual items, but kept losing track.  It would cost far more at a thrift store, but she couldn't afford thrift stores anymore.  Sam felt her eyes prickle as a complex wave of nostalgia and pity and helplessness surged through her.  She calmed herself with a resigned sigh.  Three dollars was all she had, so if they said no, so be it.

265

Dee heard crickets and leaves rustled by the wind.  Traffic, always.  The computer's laboring mechanics, always.  The fluorescent lights, always.  But crickets and leaves and birds, too.

She opened her eyes and tried to really see, but that was more difficult.  All Dee saw was MESS and UNDONE and IF ONLY.  Dee sighed and closed her eyes again.  Crickets, wind blowing softer and harder and softer, a bird.

235

The moon rose over the canyon wall, big and white and clear.  The rocks were still warm, but the air had been gathering a chill.  It was still, cloudless, the stars stretching out to forever and the start of the universe.  Cabe lay dying in his sleeping bag.  He had maneuvered himself so the fire was behind him and his head propped up on one of the low, warm rocks.  The additional heat from the fire warmed the top of his wispy-haired head.  Cabe shivered and stared at the moon, trying to gain perspective on his place in the world before he was gone from it.

226

Janey idly scratched nits from her scalp as she angled the newspaper scrap into the light from the window.  The paper had torn in two when she tried to wrest it away from Bald Bill.  He had only wanted it for warmth, but she wanted it to read.  Janey knew she had to stay in practice if she wanted to keep the skill.  She hadn't thought she missed reading, but once she found the old paperback last year, she couldn't stop herself from wanting more and more.

129

I keep dreaming about my old house. I wander around, the way it used to be and the way it never was, or could be. I'm looking for something lost; something I desperately want before the house is chained shut and "NO TRESPASSING" means I can't get in again. It is the house I thought would always be there. I thought my parents would always be there, watching television in the family room. Perhaps my dad would be in the basement working. Perhaps my mom would actually be in the kitchen, getting ready to call Pizza Hut. My room, always the way I left it.

They say you can never go home again, and now I know what it means. My home wasn't my home for a long time because of changes, and I prefer to remember it the way it was when I was young. When that particular shade of green was all the rage. When the appliances were golden. When the curtains were still hung and my doll house was still powered and my dog was still alive. I can go back home again in my mind. It's where my real home still sits, waiting for me.

78

Why did I never appreciate my bed the way I should have? Lenora wondered, turning on her other side to help alleviate the pain in her shoulder. Everyone knows the ground is hard, but you don't truly understand what it means until you attempt to sleep on it. Rocks are pointy. Dew is cold. The dark is dark. Unknown noises are scary. Having to pee without a proper bathroom is annoying. I promise to love my next bed. I promise I will thank it every night and every morning.

17

I know it's a cliche, but seriously, Paris in the springtime really is beautiful. It's warm and sunny. Everyone seems to be carrying a bouquet of flowers and the city's famous cafes are ready and waiting with their little iron-legged tables draped with crisp white linens, waiters unobtrusive and poised to serve. I had ever been to Paris in the spring until the day I ran away from home.

It sounds like I'm some uber-smart teenager who secretly saved my babysitting money, figured out how to get a passport, and snuck off to the airport, ditching my parents and the remainder of high school just to live the life of a tragically misunderstood artist in France.

First of all, that never works; girls like that turn into tragically diseased prostitutes. Second, I'm not a teenager. I'm in my thirties, and I don't feel particularly smart. Especially alone in France. I did manage to figure out the passport thing, secretly save money and sneak off to the airport, but I was ditching my husband and the remainder of a flawed marriage to live the life of a... well, there's the thing. What am I? Tragically misunderstood, no doubt, by everyone I left behind. Except for one person. The one to whom I just sent his own one way ticket to Paris.

Hint: not my husband.