Things That Might Go Wrong

Things That Might Go Wrong

John Steffler

I was trained to be cautious:

my father always there

two steps ahead of my every move:

"If you hold it like that it'll slip....

Now what are you going to do with it?...

I saw a guy try that once and it tore off his arm."

But I go beyond such rote-learned caution.

I am creatively cautious, exquisitely

sensitive to things that might go wrong.

Quicker than any computer my mind

scoots down dozens of possible turns events might take,

spotting the dangers,

clucking warnings automatically as a hen.

Now, lying in bed, I listen as

my young daughter goes to feed the dog.

Not in his water bowl! I think to yell.

Such a nag, I tell myself.

Always your fretful plaint rotting everything.

Poor kid.

Still free. Purely happy getting his food.

Keep out of it.

You'll make her hate you in the end,

look back some day and see

you were the hole that let in doubt and fear.

Even when there's no rattle of dry dog food,

even when I hear the dog slurping his breakfast

I don't say a word.

I lie grinning, victorious,

having checked all the dangers

and dodged the worst.

Snowed In

The other day, after I had finished my exams, Bean pointed out that it was odd to see me looking so relaxed. I laughed because I knew how true that statement was. But a part of me was saddened by this statement. Do I really want to be known as the person who is always stressed? The one who walks around with a facial expression that indicates that the sky is falling?

Later, I told her that I'm really not sure how to function when I'm not panicking. I start to panic about the fact that I'm not panicking. My thoughts run something like this: "I'm not freaking out. Why am I not freaking out. I should be freaking out. I must be forgetting something that I should be freaking out about. What did I forget? WHAT did I forget? I must be forgetting something. I can't not be freaking out about anything..." And before I know it I have worked myself into a commendable panic over the fact that I am not panicking. The whole thing is rather ridiculous.

Yesterday it snowed. And I mean SNOWED. And it quite literally forced me to just stop and do nothing. I braved the weather in the morning to get to an optometrist appointment, but once I made it home there was no way I was going back out unless someone near and dear to me had an absolute emergency. I bailed on a Christmas get-together. I stayed home. And I was forced to do nothing. I started reading a book for my directed study course and taking notes on it when suddenly this voice in my head said "You're that girl again. The one who is always working. Take a breath." Let me tell you, I struggled. I tried to watch TV and nothing was on. Instead I put up the little Christmas tree in the basement. I caught up on some blog reading. I watched a show this evening with my parents (Sing Off, which you should check out if you haven't). I shovelled the sidewalk. It's weird, this emptiness. It's like there is a giant void in my head. Outside the world is buried in white blankets and I feel like that is what the inside of my brain looks like too. Just blank. I can't decide how I feel about this.