I Can't Find My Words

Have you seen them, my words?

The words that swirl like the waters in a gigantic rushing tide in my head begging, screaming, shouting to be let out before they expire like the carton of milk in the back of my refrigerator with the pull date of October 1st?

Yes, those are the ones.

I could tell you about the chicken and dumplings I made for dinner last night (bland diet, baby), about how the kids were relishing in my screams every time they told me John McCain should be president (they have really, really sick senses of humor and know when to strike when I'm vulnerable), about how much bleach was used in our home during the last 8 days . . .

I could tell you about the other day, when Wyatt burst from his room, cheeks flaming red, droplets of sweat forming on his brow and barely able to breathe.

"Mom," he said, suddenly very seriously and with intent, "we are having so much fun in my room. I can't tell you what we're doing, but it involves silly putty and ducking."

[No two words were more frightening to a mother's ears]

And then he disappeared behind his closed door and howls of laughter and thumping were heard.

Brett and I looked at each other in one of those "did I just hear that?" moments and I, not wanting to lose my one chance to run to the store and fetch my husband yet more orange Gatorade, said, "they're all yours," and promptly ran out the front door.

I could tell you how time consuming it is to keep abreast of all the local news stories involving my husband's E. Coli poisoning, how following thread after thread after thread of information will not only scare the pants off a person, but can, literally, take over your life. Thankfully I realized this before it was too late and I can finally stop singing that Eric Clapton song Can't Find My Way Home in my head when I turn on the computer.

I just can't find my words.

I want to tell you about the funny. I want to tell you about how my husband thought I was talking to him a minute ago instead of my "other husband," (and no, he hasn't had his pain meds yet) the misbehaving washing machine, but you're probably growing tired of hearing me complain about that. To add insult to injury, I found an OFFER! to test a brand new Samsung washer and dryer set (a $2,400 value!) in my inbox today (participation is required) and it was all I could do not to click on the link, forever branding my email address as belonging to one of those stupid, lame-o people who really do think they can get something for nothing.

Yeah. not. gonna. do. it.

There was also a message from my colon.

I ignored that one too.

So yes, my words - I hear you, I do. But I am just too tired to let you out right now. Let's just say that you're in hibernation...like a bear, okay? You're in hibernation and it won't last long and in the meantime, enjoy the rest. Got that, words? Did you hear me? Hello?

To tide the rest of you over, here's a oldie (oh, how it pains me to refer to it as such) by The Cure (melancholy of all melancholy) that I heard on my way back from buying orange Gatorade. I drove past our street and around the block just so I could listen to the whole thing. The original video isn't available to share, but you can click here if you want to see it in all it's glory.

In Between Days - I think this version is nice: