I am in the land of lists. I write lists, a list maker. These are endless lists, numbered lists. Some on paper and some in my head. Loaded with things to do or to finish. I am going to the Grand Canyon, going to finish that short story, going to get milk, going to clean the garage, and going to brush my daughter’s hair when she stops running around.
I am in Dr. Seuss’s Waiting Place. I am waiting for things. Small things and big things. I am patient. I am impatient. I am waiting to retire, to win the lottery, to catch a fish, lose ten pounds, for the idea to write the novel about, and for the microwave to finish popping my popcorn.
I am in a time machine. I am sitting with you but really not there. I’ve floated off or blasted off. I sit at school curriculum meetings. Colleagues repeat and reword an endlessly testimonial about implementing current education modifications. Old things called new things that we used to do and now need to do again. But, I turn back into a 12 year –old at the baseball field. I am reliving my little league catcher dropping the ball and letting the winning run score in the championship game. I gave him a good throw. I wonder if that still bothers him that he dropped it.
I am in the field where the grass is always greener. This is a place of bigger houses, bigger bank accounts, less worries, and fewer commitments, and more time. I can have more or less. Here, I have time to be with my family, time to write, time to think about things, and just plain time. I can sleep late.
I am in the washer, tumbling and splashing. I need stuff washed out: stains, pains, hurts, dirts, crap like that. Nothing ever cleans perfect. Bleach has its limits. So does hot water. I don’t think that I’ve done anything that bad but sometimes things bother me. Sometimes, I think I just need to drop it and move on. Maybe, throw that piece of me out.
I am stuck in a jar of peanut butter. I pull and push and squish. I start to climb out but don’t. A lot to do. Not everyday stuff. Only stuff, I know about and need to do. That is the problem. I’m stuck and I need to get out. Stuck on what? Forget it, people don’t need to know everything.
I am in the nothing. The answers are useless. The shit here is rusted and the advice is for suckas. Some things have no answer. Why did the bomb kill those three people? How could a tornado smash all these houses, except mine? Why did that little boys get cancer?
I am in the coliseum. If I am there, I don’t want to be. However, if the lions roar, I roar back. If you want to go to war, bring enough ammunition. Anger can keep you warm in the winter. I don't want to be at a perpetual simmer.
I am in the yellow moon over the dark graveyard. I watch the stones. They mark the people that I’ve known or not known. My family, my uncles, my friends, probably some kids that I taught, and a bunch of other people who made the world better or made the world worse. I don’t want to be in here. Rage, rage, rage.