Thursday, December 10

Auribus tenere lupum.

I have a wolf by the ears.

One would think that this is a metaphor for being caught in some type of terribly exciting, dangerous situation, forcefully grasping a moment in which to decide what move to make next.

Sadly, it isn't.

My creative limbs are atrophied. I sit here and I am trying, but everything beautiful and original within me is quiet; every bit of enthusiasm asleep. It wasn't beaten out of me, it isn't exhausted from overwork; it has been sitting on ice, forgetting what to do.

I had silly little dreams. I had a house with hardwood floors and old light fixtures. I painted wood found in my attic and cut little animal shapes out of colored bits of paper. I made my own dresses, I kept a diary, I lived on money that I made creating lattes and triple shot cappuccinos in a scrubby little coffee shop. I was full of joy and confidence. I didn't wonder for a moment if anyone thought I looked stupid.

Sarah Beth and I painted the metal chairs that sat on our front patio. I listened to records while I took bubble baths in the narrow, porcelain tub. I have such rich and fond memories of a time in my life when I had so much and didn't even realize it. I can remember how my closet smelled and how the fire detector would go off whenever we made pancakes, but I can't remember what I wore to work yesterday.

At the time I thought I was living in the purgatory that everyone goes through before college ends and real life begins.

I could close my eyes and wake up 22 years-old, wearing a long, blue skirt, in my house on Magnolia Curve.

So I have a wolf by the ears. I am staring into a mouth of chalky teeth and wet, purple gums. I am scared not of a violent end, but of a boring life.