His heart curls up into a hard little shell this time of year. Leaving me standing there, wondering what to think of my life. I stare at the emptiness for a while. For a long while, you know, until your eyes start to water and your world turns all psychedelic. And I blink and realize that it's not working. He's staying in that ball.
I teeter about, pathetically, until I build up enough of a base to step back and see what a mess I'm making of myself, and FORTUNATELY, I turn my back on the hard shell and whole-heartedly tell him to fuck off.
And things slide around and start fitting together again. I stop wondering about marriage and mothering and just do it. I build up steam and courage and strength. And I have time for everything. Exercise, baking cookies, bed time stories, back rubs, loving good morning kisses, and music. Much much more music. Books and art and walks through nature. I do instead of think.
And doing somehow gives me space to think. To really see my thoughts. And he is still there (of course, how else could he be to me) And I see myself reflected in calm deep water. Clearly. My problem is that I'm a clarity addict. Gradually, I slip into too much thinking and not enough doing. I see that now. Again.
Know without knowing. See without looking. Doesn't make sense. But if you don't think about it too much, it does.