October Fifteenth Two Thousand and Nine

This morning when CindySleigh woke up there was salt crusts around her eyes. She touched them gently with her fingers and touched her tongue to her fingers. It was such a faint taste it was like a memory of the sea. Cindy knew she must have cried but had no memory of nightmares or dreams. The only memory she had of her sleep was the dried sea salt of her tears.
Her brain woke up with rapid transit speed...why?...why?...why? Cindy's mind ran scenarios, yesterdays plays like an express train trying to always be on time when bridges collapsed in front of it or snow blinded it or the demands of crowds of people would stop it in its path.
Cindy had trouble sorting out the daily interactions and what her place was. CindySleigh knew she was but one small piece of the game (of course she would be the queen if the game was chess) but the fluidity of the days were like trying to run on slick ice. Cindy needs ice skates for her psyche to keep up with the movements of the days. Slower moving days are not in her immediate future, her brain noted. Yet She yearned for days filled more like a Bach fugue, complex but somehow orderly. Instead it felt like eternal car crashes in Dantes Inferno. "I am being just a tad dramatic," Cindy said to herself.
"I feel dramatic god damn it."
Her exhausted physical being was hovering around an engine of energy that would not stop. That would not even sit in neutral. This engine wanted to move, to go, to act, to do. "How does one rest with these human contradictions," she wondered. Such were the thoughts of CindySleigh on October Fifteenth Two Thousand and Nine.

Distance

"This distancing thing is harder than my left brain said it would be," Cindy thought. You have to walk around with a searing heart inside while you practice, while you sit silent. The anger pulses through your veins and your mind is as one that would explode. She pushes her chair back and excuses herself from the table. Cindy retreats to the bedroom. She puts on her transparent gloves that sparkle with iridescent glitter. She slowly points both hands forward and glides into the mirror. The silver slate becomes fluid and makes circles that repeat themselves moving outward as if the mirror was a still pool. Each of her fingers has led her into the land of in between. Cindy sat cross legged and began to breathe with intent. Her room seemed very far away. She stared at her bed from the other side. The beating of her heart slowed. Cindy passed into the land of in between to rest and reflect, to find the empty place that does not expect to be filled, ever.