the days of december

by Amy Turn Sharp


I have been living in my head for a couple weeks. When I get covered in stress I tend to go inside and live deeper and flatter than a pancake.
My friend told me the other day that my head is a bad neighborhood and I believe him.

I still have a unspoiled view of the holidays though. Our family is in town from UK and they are like this amazing sugar striped fantasy that I get to enjoy.
My kids are twinkling like I plugged them in a lightbox
and they spin faster than cars on ice with glee.

Everything is really delightful if I could disconnect from my brain.
If I could only pull some plug.

It's like when you go to sleep and you try and make yrself dream a certain dream. You close yr eyes and pull images and try and push them into that sacred space of time floating around free and peaceful. But you often can't dream that dream that you want. It's like the people all look different like stand ins for the ones you wished for and instead of going to the park you end up at Home Depot and there may or may not be monsters.

Or something like that.

But the sun is shining on my face through the windowed room where I make things go from brain to fingertips to you and it is nicer than anything else and I am just going to sit here and enjoy it for the 7 minutes I have to myself today.

And the world is beautiful around me and I just need to break the surface.