Liftoff

Here we go. The semester starts tomorrow and I'm spending this day, as usual, with my bumper car nerves.

At least I know this is the usual and I have, so far, come out without encountering fist fights or pipe bombs on the first day.
Those are the second day.

I'm mentally clog dancing all over my soul, making biting comments to myself about how much I did not get done this summer.

I answer back: "But I got 28,000 words of the book finished, have an idea for how to piece it together, and that by itself is way more productive than my normal summer off."

Stomp stomp stomp. You were supposed to FINISH the book.

More defending myself: "I was a little unrealistic about that."

Stomp stomp stomp. Other people could've done it. You shouldn't have watched TV. You should've stayed off Facebook.

I'm on the floor now, guarding my head and feeling the guilt pour over me like oil on a pelican.

"I've never written a book before. I did OK for a newbie."

Stomp-KICK KICK! (The Pummeler does not like me to say I did OK at anything.)

"And holy crap, I went to physical therapy TWENTY-FOUR times, did all those neck exercises at home, and joined a gym and started working out again. What about that?"

[It goes to get its friends. An entire team of clog dance pummelers with primitive, splintery wooden bricks for feet.]

"And I went to see my parents over and over again. I hugged my mom and rubbed her back and massaged her feet. I made her laugh. I spent time with my dad. I fed him and brushed his teeth and put lotion on his face. I tucked him in at night. I told him I loved him and one time he even said it back to me."

[The dancers look confused.]

"I spent my summer with a husband who loves me and tolerates the vast array of quirks about me. And who is patient with how long it's taking me to understand how to be with someone like him."

[They look down at their wood-thug feed.]

"Pummel me all you want. You suck."

They struggle and trip across the floor to get to me.

I push a button I didn't even know I had. A trap door opens. They go down. The door closes.

I hear them yelling at me, but through the floor they are muffled.