Odd Day
This may be one of those days, not the really odd day, like Leap Year, but one that doesn’t show up on a regular calendar. It’s what I call a liminal day, when there’s nothing more pressing to do than to hold onto this space— my space, even though it is full of uncertainty and is well beyond my ability to do anything worthwhile but simply wait it out. All of my tiny life comes rushing at me, and all at once. A drop of water ain’t much in an infinite universe, and still this day feels like an ocean tossing me about in my tiny boat which is held together by little more than a handful of rusty nails, this rotting world order, and an earnest prayer that I may sprout wings. I know that you know exactly what I’m talking about. This is the prayer we all say when we’re not sure everything’s going to work out. The prayer goes: Please Lord help me get through this day. Allow me to hold myself together, and grant me enough understanding that I may provide safety for everyone I love and care about, until that day I die. I call this the Prayer of the Powerless. It’s for those of us who awake in midlife wondering how we will survive and one day enter old age. So once again, it is the odd morning, but not too odd either, because the old order stands, and while it stands, there will always be something familiar for me to grab and hold on to.
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