Pinball

 

I yawned, stretched, rolled over onto my side.

Don't look at the clock, I thought.  With my eyes closed, I could tell it was still dark outside.

I grimaced as I felt a bead of sweat drip down my chest.  I put my hand on my belly, also covered in a slick slime of sweat.  

Yuck.  

Apparently, this is what happens to a 47-year-old woman.  

I sighed again.

Don't look at the clock.

I opened my eyes.  1:04 a.m.  I peeled back to soaking wet sheet.  The window was open, and the air hit me like a plunge into an ice-cold mountain lake.  I shivered, sweat still covering my skin.  I got up, walked to the bathroom, dried myself off, went back to the bedroom.  I crawled in bed, squirming around in an attempt to find a piece of sheet that wasn't fully saturated.  No such luck.  I gave up and lay still in the cold wet.  

I closed my eyes, willing sleep to find me again.  Instead, the starting gun went off in my brain, and my brain shot out of the chute like a pinball, bouncing off of every possible obstacle in its course.

I can't believe it's been eight months.

Scott has been gone for eight months.  It feels like eight years and eight minutes at the same time.  An eternity in the blink of an eye.  Just like that, and forever ago.  

Maybe Friday next week I can get to the social security office to start changing my name.  I need my birth certificate.  Where is it?  Do I have it?  I think I have it.  Or does my mom still have it?  No, I am pretty sure I have it.  But where is it? 

I've decided to change my name back to Graham.  I was Heidi Graham for 29 years of my life.  When Scott and I got married, I was on the fence about changing my name to Kaminski.  I did decide to change it, and for 17 years, I was Kaminski.  Now that Scott is gone, I feel like I need to go back to my roots.  

Where is my birth certificate?

The song that was in my head earlier in the evening cued itself up on the jukebox inside my head, cranked the volume up to maximum and played on repeat.

Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains...

The same line, over and over.  

Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains...

What should I do about the property in town?

Scott was working on a subdivision in Darby when he passed away.  I was supposed to close on the sale of it today, but the buyer backed out at the last minute.

Should I keep it listed?  Should I lower the price?  Should I take it off the market and sit on it?  Should I do something with it?  

Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains...

I need to pay the taxes.

Death and taxes.  My accountant told me to save every bit of money that I had, because this year would be a bad tax year.  He was right.  Apparently, death and taxes do go hand-in-hand.  

Where is my birth certificate?  I am sure I have it.  Is it in the filing cabinet?  I can't remember.  I need to pay the taxes.  I can't believe Scott has been gone for eight months.  

I sighed, rolled over in the swamp that was my side of the bed.  I opened my eyes once again.  3:15 a.m.  I got up, afraid my tossing and turning would keep Shannon awake.  I went in the other room and lay down.  

Maybe a change of scenery will help me sleep.

Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains...

I should just get up and write, or lift, or stretch, or do something.  But I'm so tired.

My arms felt dead.  My legs felt like the fallen cottonwood tree in the pasture.  My head felt like it was crushing the pillow beneath me.  

What should I do with the property?

Marge hopped up, started kneading biscuits on my chest.  "Prrrr prrrrr prrrrr."

"Hi, Marge," I whispered in the darkness.

"Meeeeeee," Marge replied.  "Prrrr prrrrr prrrrrr."

Will it always be this heavy?  Will every day feel this heavy?  And where is my birth certificate?  I have to remember to pay the taxes.

I envisioned an elephant slowly sitting on me, crushing me into a big pit of mud.  Deeper and deeper, I sank under the weight of the elephant.  Just when I thought I would suffocate, the mud allowed me to shimmy free.  I saw myself start to stand up, only to be squished by another elephant.  

Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains...

"Prrrr prrrrr prrrrrr," Marge said as she continued to make her biscuits.  

My body was exhausted, but my brain continued its quest to hit every target in the pinball machine.  

I need to find my birth certificate.  I wonder how long the line will be at the social security office.  I need to renew my truck registration but should wait to do that until I get my name changed.  I need to pay the taxes.  Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains.  What should I do with the property?  Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Birth certificate.  Taxes.  Eight months.  Slow-moving freight trains.  Property.  Money.  Income.  Heavy.  Elephants and mud.  Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains...

Eventually, I gave up and got up.  I am happy to say I solved all my problems, past, present, and future, along with problems that may or may not exist, problems that might potentially happen, and problems that have no chance of happening but need solving anyway, and I will never again have a sleepless night (I say that with heavy sarcasm).  

I keep thinking my sleep will regulate again at some point.  I keep thinking I will feel more settled, find a rhythm to this new existence that is struggling for normal.  Eight months seems like a long time, but I really feel like I have only begun to figure out what my new world looks like.  

A few months ago, Shannon bought me a card game.  Each card has a thought-provoking question on it.  The other night, I drew a card that read, "What is one thing that life has taught you?"

My answer: "Life can be an absolute motherfucker, and also more beautiful and amazing than I ever thought possible, and that we have no control over any of it."  

Earthquakes and hurricanes.  Slow-moving freight trains...