Off the Grid

The irony of

one post about the beauty of staring into the fire

and the next

about not staring but rushing around willy-nilly

does not escape me.

Of life-giving warmth

giving meditative bliss and salve

being ignored for

frantic prepping and sapping of adrenaline that may be needed in actual emergency.

I get it.

My analytic mind senses the conundrum.

My overly expectant self wallows in the defeat of two house-bound days devoid of relaxation.

Though my electrical panel never lost power, I did.

The ability to worry is the only sort of control I have.

Free to Fall

I think waiting for the power to go out is worse than dealing with its absence.

Flush the toilet one more time, hurry to put the last load of laundry in the dryer, fill the sink with soapy rinse water. Charge the computer, the tablet, the cellphone. Stack the wood, stoke the fire, boil one more pot for tea.

This blizzard is the perfect microcosm for my anxious world.

The worrying is worse than the event.

The scenarios the brain can come up with cause more pain than living through the eventuality.

The waiting, the waiting – for the other shoe to drop, the limb to fall, the powerline to go slack.

My mind is spinning faster than the vortex of wintry wind outside.

I am not thinking of the warm cocoon my house provides, the heat radiating from the wood stove that didn’t exist during the last such storm, the canned and dry goods in the pantry.

I am on edge. I am a raw nerve. I am living in fear of the worst outcome not happening – for if it did, I’d be free of the worry.

Jennifer Butler Basile

Jennifer Butler Basile

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