Pieces
Much swirls again in my head today. Before I took my new job, I was merely depressed. Now? Oh, now I do not know what I am because it changes with every tick of the clock. Wild swings and wild orbits—and I hold on by my fingertips alone as I am slung through the deserts between the stars. What am I now? I must be more specific: what am I on Monday at 11:30 AM—is this what I mean? Or on Tuesday, as I tie my shoes in the morning? Or Wednesday, when I hit that lull after lunch? I must pose this question carefully if the answer is to be anything more insightful than “a bit of a mess, really”.
Pieces of me fall off. They rattle like balls of metal wire when they strike the floor. I stoop to pick them up, but as I gather them, more fall. I gather them too, only to find that, as I finish and prepare to stand, a single piece has slipped through my fingers. I stoop to retrieve it, but this only causes more to tumble from my hands. I pick them up too, using my teeth to lift them from the floor and drop them into my grip, but now the process of retrieving and restacking has gone on too long: a new piece of me falls like an ill-timed afterthought. More spill out as I try to pick up that last one. At last I have it gripped between two fingers, but in the struggle, I lost more than half the pieces, so I might as well begin again. I am on my knees raking my fingernails over the floor to uncover any hidden pieces when someone walks in. Maybe it’s a coworker or even a friend. I freeze. One more piece, one that was already dangling from my brow, seizes that moment to break free. It lands with a cheap tinny sound, one miserable inch from the pile in my cupped hands. I am forced, however, to stand then, to claim whatever I hold and count the rest as lost. I race past the other person. I’m so startled, I lack the good grace to even mumble an apology. I bring my hands to my chest as I run, but I can still feel pieces spilling through my fingers.
What will I even do with them, these dislodged fragments of myself? I cannot say, but holding them feels better than leaving them behind..