Involuntary

I've spent the last two days in bed, hardly moving except to eat and goto work. I forced myself up tonight to go outside and walk for 30 minutes. Now showered, I feel clean. I copied an entry into this journal that I wrote on the way back from Las Vegas. It captured just a few thoughts. There are so many more.

In the silence of breathing, I picture myself as a bamboo reed in a pond. As rocks drop in and cause ripples in the water, the reed moves to accept the wave of the ripple, and so am I moving with each shockwave of emotion from the past week. In the quiet of my mind, I meditate and thoughts of Tyler, Eddy, Rey, Nathan come in time. Work politics. Will this heat subside long enough for me to cool my body? Cardwell leaves for a cruise and Big Kitty needs to be petted while he's gone. Saturday is Mother's Day breakfast time.

The only crying I have done was in side-splitting laughter at a mini-mart stop on the drive home from Las Vegas. It was 100 degrees outside. Cardwell stopped for water and so we could switch and I would take over driving. His description of the "short" cash register attendant who's head barely reached the counter, the black bananas they were trying to sell, the old homeless man standing in front of the building... all were enough for a smile, but then we looked to the freeway and watched a mini-van in reverse on the ON-RAMP. Seconds later there's a backfire from the tailpipe of some vehicle that drove out of the desert and pulled into the mini-mart. We were lost somewhere that most people will never know. I lost total control and fell to the ground in laughter. Tears--the kind that stream down your cheek to the chin and drop off when you're crying uncontrollably hard--rained on the asphalt.

I have no tears for anything else right now. Is that me, or the Zoloft?