Day 123 (and counting)

Tyngsboro bridge over the Merrimack.  You drive over the ugly temporary bridge and have a grand view of the old beautiful bridge.  I drove all the way there this evening after school, only to find that there were no bees for me, as the supplier had lost 30 packages today from the heat!  Poor man.  Poor bees. 

And poor me, I was in the car for 2 and a half hours! 

Women are just very weird.  I mean, I love women and I still want to be one in my next life if there is a next life, but we are not even-tempered or predictable in any way.  This evening I 'stripped my moer', or, as they say in America, had a meltdown.  ('Stripped my moer' is just much more expressive.)

It happens every two to five years, and I can watch myself from above the house somewhere, and the floating person knows exactly how unreasonable and stupid and childish I am being, and yet the monster has me in his/her grasp, and I can't do anything but go through with the breaking of plates, the banging of doors, the loathing of someone or something or some part of life. 

In labour, your body takes over completely and eventually a child is born.  In 'moer-stripping' your crazy mind takes over your body, and everyone gets hurt or sad or angry.  So really, is it necessary?  Especially being 54 years old, for goodness sake!  Why do we feel everything so viscerally?  Such highs, such lows!  Everything intensified, like the evening light on the trees on my way home, deepening all the colors, so that I drove home through the greenest greens, the yellowest of blue clouds, the deepest black sky in the distance.

Breaking a plate is a particularly satisfying thing to do though.  My mother did it on occasion, and now I know why.  Although I wish I had chosen one of the chipped plates. 

And I wish I got the wings to go with the dragon-lady, it would be so amazing to have a performance and then fly off into the night, roaring.