I know what it's called
and you close your ears real close
It results in bright lights and loud noise. I know that science has a name.
It's finally feeling like I'm old. There is this nagging dream that plagues me lately, even more so now that I've come down with some virus, after countless plane rides and hotel stays. I'm lost in a snowy wilderness, and night after night I bed down, lost, and the one comfort is this old flashlight I've had for years. I remember finding it in a clearance rack, when LEDs were nouveau; I remember having it one time I went camping alone; It shone.
Now sleep comes most easily when I imagine I'm wandering in the dark, worn out and bedded down and craving those few moments of comforting illumination.
My son is irresponsible and demanding in the full light of day, and sick, I head downstairs for water, and find him covertly helping his sister with her math homework. My heart explodes. If I were god of the universe, this is the moment I would seed every corner of the galaxy with life, it is so affirming.
A teacher comes in after a failed diagnosis, and now I have to lie and cheat and steal so that he can maintain insurance for the three months he has left to live. A corporation offers to pay for dinner and it's easy to say no. A friend leaves his wife for his secretary and asks for a job. The light is bright and the noise is loud. Now we're beyond science.
What I've lost is the release of writing out my hopes and frustrations publicly, and I don't know why that matters. I have angry staff and obsessed students a click away. I miss the catharsis of semi-anonymous space. I miss the people who were here and are now like yearbook photos of toothless kindergarten classmates. I'm sorry there was no note explaining why I left.