Sometimes, All We Do Is Cope

I don't know how many times I read through the, "Anne of Green Gables," series while I was growing up, but I would guess it was somewhere close to five. And although I haven't picked it up in over fifteen years, I keep thinking about a line in it where Anne talks about her days slipping by like pearls off of a necklace - valuable, beautiful and peacefully indistinguishable from each other. My days, these days, are more like plastic Mardis Gras beads, bouncing into dusty corners along the floor. I am anxious to be rid of them and the vulgar memories in my life they represent. This is the first time I can remember, where I am exchanging fistfuls of time for more fistfuls of time without giving a damn that all these summer days, starry nights, moments, moments, moments, are flying past me, with nothing in return for their loss.
I am officially, "Just Hanging In There".

At the end of the month, we will be moving into our new house, courtesy of a generous friend, and I will begin again the process of painting walls, hanging pictures, arranging furniture, building home. Until then, and probably even then, there will be those dreaded minutes and sometimes hours that come before sleep, where I pray like hell, go over my options, look at that vast, unknown future ahead of me and try to remind myself that control is overrated. But when I do sleep, I dream of mercy. There are angels, God's kind voice and a black phoenix stamped on the backs of my eyelids.