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.

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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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