Written February 23, 1995

            Every so often, around this time of day, when everyone else is asleep and light just starts to peek from behind the horizon, I feel a tumultuous yearning from within me. It’s as though I should rise up and walk towards a lonely stretch of beach;  hands clenched to my breast, wind tearing through my coat and hair, and melancholy eyes staring into the distance. I feel as if I should shout “Noooooooo!” in fourteen or fifteen syllables as if denying to myself the feelings that wrench themselves within me. It is as if crying out like that would free my soul, vent my tears, and free me from the burdens of life and mankind.

            I look out my window into the overcast sky, as if I were locking eyes with God; Knowing that only God can see my pain. I look away abruptly to hide my angst. I must rush out and embrace my loneliness, my hurt, my agony. I run to the foyer and pull the door open in a dramatic sweep…but the wind rips through my cotton robe as if it were nonexistent. I slam the door and lean against it lamenting at the powers that are against me that prevent me from releasing the pent up emotions within me.

            I will prevail though. I rush to the closet and shed my robe in favor of sturdier clothes. Bergelene and Polartec gird my loins while Gortex and Thinsulate adorn my body. I feel like an Arctic explorer, but Arctic explorers feel pain too. With feeling and purpose I forge to the outdoors almost feeling tears at the beauty of the moment. The oblivious intent that I press to the outside, tells the world that there is no physical pain that can match the crushing hurt I feel inside.

            I am to the street when I am caught unawares by the ravage calls of nature. With long loping steps I rush back into my loathsome abode, the place which ekes from my very veins the humors of the quietude and contentment that I seek. After going to the bathroom and toasting a bagel, I have some coffee before re-girding my loins to brave my inner self and finally come to terms with my guilt and anger. This time instead of bursting from my home like a torrential deluge from a broken dam, I walk into the open air with anguished calculated steps, knowing that each step brings me closer and closer to confronting my burden.

            The sun has peeked out from the clouds its rays stretch like fingers burning holes into my soul. I feel the sweat of the unrepentant form upon my brow. I feel the clamminess of the guilty upon my palms and the unbearable heat of shame suffusing my body. Then I realize that my Bergelenes are drenched and clings to my body. Sometime between dressing against the cruel elements of nature and meeting with the light of God, it has somehow become unseasonably warm. I attempt to forge ahead, but the bunching of the fabric really begins to irritate.

            I whirl around seeking my home once more, my heart rattle in the emptiness of my life. My next door neighbor pauses at her porch looking at me quizzically. She is dressed re splendidly in shorts and a tank top looking like a most beauteous of God’s creatures. I cast my eyes away and run pellmell back inside.

            Every so often, around this time of day, when people are just waking up, and I feel this terrible feeling from within me, I take two Tylenol, and curl up in front of the TV and laugh hysterically at the morning cartoons. Am I embarrassed by such immature behavior? Not at all, my Bergelenes have yet to dry.