Monsters

I have a little bit of a place I love. A little island in the South that holds huge space in my heart. It was refuge from my own storm for awhile. I ran the beaches and tossed tears out to the Atlantic and held my babies closely and remembered for 22 seconds who I might be. And now my people there are filling their cars with gas, boarding up windows, banging their heads against walls as they vow to move to Kansas immediately (however, careful there-tornadoes) and run from the giant, swirling monster eating up the Atlantic. Some of them are wavering on whether to stay and face the monster or whether to make an impromptu trip to a certain theme park that uses a mouse as its mascot. All of the considerations must be dealt with- how many people in our family, who made the hotel reservation (crap), how many pets actually fit in our car and who knows how to work this generator. None of it is to be taken lightly- it is scary and stressful as hell. I only went through one hurricane in my time there, and we evacuated to safety and the island took only a small hit. Take a hike, Florence. All tiny islands in the Atlantic have had about enough. We are tired. We are tired of running from monsters.

Thinking about evacuation and safety and big scary storms reminds me that I am a bit of a “runner” (check name of blog). Yeah, yeah, yeah, she moves a lot. (I think I might need to just bag “running with my eyes closed” and start a new blog called “Gone Girl” but leave out Ben Affleck and all of the murder-y stuff.) Now, much of my adult life has been “move-based” out of necessity to feed and clothe my many children and stay afloat in an expensive world. But there have been plenty of times when at the first sign of a claw slipping out from underneath the bed, I ran straight for my Mommy, the closet, a wine bottle or all of the above. I’m sorry, but big drooling, maniacal green-toothed problems are terrifying and my heart hurts today and that doesn’t feel very nice and no way can I possibly lift the bedskirt and stare the yellow-eyed demon in the face. That will make me cry. But lately, I’m tired of running. Do you know that feeling when you might be a wee bit out of shape and yet you go for the 5-mile run anyway? (usually happens around January 1) And it feels like HELL- your holiday fat itches, your lungs screech in anguish and you vow to run everyday for the rest of your life to not feel that again?? (that usually ends January 3) Well, that is where I am- third day of January. Done. No more itchy-fat, lung-searing, plantar-fasciitis inducing miles. I like the skin I’m in.

“Finally,” say my tired quadriceps.

So, I am boarding up my windows, maybe, or I might be throwing them wide open to the rain. I have plenty of water stored in my thirsty soul, and theme parks make me anxious anyway. My car heart always has room for the people I love, and they will just have to squish a bit to fit the monsters and bring a towel for the drool. I figure if I just laugh with those demons a bit, they won’t always look like Pennywise. We will all be ok here, no mandatory evacuation necessary.

Stay safe, my loves.

PS: You may always keep “running with your eyes closed”. That’s different. It’s a metaphor. I think. I’ll let you know when I get there.

xoxoxoxoxoxox