I was just saying to Emmett the other day, “This has been a nice, long stretch of Good Brain. Don’t let me hang on to it too tight, okay?” In his Emmett-ness, he zoomed past me to leap onto his cat-tree, his Safe Place. I should have listened a little closer to his cat wisdom.
Good Brain disappeared yesterday. An immediate sharp dive into the Black. The definition of Rapid in rapid cycling.
Such a sudden a turn discombobulated me. I floundered. Nothing seemed like the right choice, right action, right counterstrike. I wandered around my home looking for something—not exactly the fine mood that had vacated, but something to soothe the broken-glass that replaced it.
At the drug store/post office this morning, I bought this mug, then a Salty Dog latte to put in it. Warm and textured, my fingers and hands read it like toasty braille. It murmured that the Dark Place my brain decided to go to won’t hold it forever. It set another possibility in front of my face even when it felt impossible in my body. I can’t stop looking at it, rubbing my thumbs over the rough, skinny letters. Joy.
Emmett is curled on the blue blanket at the base of his tree now—hidden, safe, sleeping as the rain whispers outside. I will follow his lead today, carrying my placeholder, believing in safety and whispers of wisdom.
SandySue Altered
