Stir Crazy

Stillness, staleness, silence crawling under skin. Want to scream, break the silence but they are asleep. Can’t wake them. Splash paint on a canvas? No, too messy can’t regret art no. Write? No, the typing tick a tack a tick of a keyboard, words spilling out that mean nothing in the morning. Stir crazy. That’s what it is. Creep outside, skin chilled by the cold. It is snowing, soft flakes that kiss skin. Change out of shorts? No time. The road is silent but open, free. The car’s clock claims it to be 3:00 am as the radio begins to blast Christmas music. Turn the music down a bit. A bit more. Much better.

Onto the road.

Light under the lamp poles, darkness tinging the edges of vision. The light blinks red over and over. Check the road for oncoming cars. None to be seen. The snow is picking up, still slow and safe. Breathtaking. Keep driving. All the lights are green. Storefronts are blackened. Pass a twenty-four-hour donut shop. Pass a twenty-four-hour McDonalds. QFC. The itch has soothed but the nerves are there. The air is cold but strangely clean as if the night cleansed the city.

Inside the store. Long faces with dreary eyes moving items, turning labels, grinding the grave yard shift.smile at them. Browse the store. It is a store like any other, all the fixings one expects at the grocers. But there are no other people there of their own volition. Pick up chips. The crinkle of the bag is grounding, the weight keeps the moment present. Go to the register no one is there but a frog shaped dog toy saying squeeze me for service. Squeak. A woman shuffles out. Pay in cash. Leave.

Onto the road again.

Lyrics thrum, something religious mother would sing. There are other wanderers on the road but the adventure is done. Back to the stillness. Back to the quiet. Keep the energy of the moment alive.