A Moment When Time Stops

Daniel’s down for the night.

The Hubby’s in the music room.

I’m putting away laundry.

As I stand before the now-closed drawers of the bureau — for a minute or less — time seems to pause, like I’m in an everlasting Present.

It’s not a happy feeling; it’s not a sad feeling.  It’s like that intake of breath, just before you jump.

Whether into air or into water or into the future — either way, it’s that kind of pause of time.

I’m trying to live in the Present, for the Past makes me weep and the Future makes me fear.

I’ve become a hermit of sorts outside of work, for I now doubt my ability to understand others — can I really know Another without assuming incorrectly?  Impossible to know, and so isn’t it safer not to make the attempt?

Hard to describe the sensations swirling around as I pause in this Moment When Time Stops.  I’m pulled back to when I was 30, 21, 18, 15, 12, and then 10.

It’s like I’m oscillating between 12 and 10 years old, which means everything afterwards — the last 25 or 28 years of my life — feels like a strange, other universe, a dream:

I don’t recognize my child, I don’t recognize my husband, I don’t recognize my house, I don’t recognize my life…

I don’t recognize me.

And then — just as quickly as it came — time starts again in a rush of sound and light.  I walk down the hallway, laundry basket in hand.  TV’s still on.  The Hubby’s still in the music room.  Work and school tomorrow.

Time to go to bed.

About lizardqueen

If single-mothering were a paid job, I'd be rich. However, it doesn't, so I write (which doesn't pay the bills) and teach (which does). I'm overly-educated in the liberal arts, but that doesn't hinder my ability to be pragmatic and realistic. YAY.
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