Tips On Keeping Your Head From Exploding
When you’re trying on a sweater at Marden’s and it’s an adult size medium and you get stuck in it because the neck is sized for a toddler and you’re claustrophobic so you jerk about and a sudden web of electricity spreads across your back and you know immediately that you’ve fucked something up trying to escape the sweater that is trying to kill you and when you try to raise your arms your body says freeze and you’re ready to drop to the floor and roll under the door into public shaking with ignominy and begging forgiveness but suddenly in your head as clear as a bell is the voice of your friend Robin who once warned with the seriousness of a March sky the dangers of freezing up in the fist of pain because freezing will only make you more frozen and the antidote to freezing is moving so you get your ass up from the dressing room bench and halve yourself at the navel and drop into rag doll and let your spine decompress while your levator spasms like a dreaming dog and eventually you can remove the sweater that is trying to kill you and you place it on its hanger and politely hand it to the woman who works the dressing room and now you’re in your car crying from all the stuff that is trying to strangle you and you remember that not-crying is another way to freeze until you get so cold that a tiny bump to the noggin explodes your ice-head into a fractal of pink crystals but this is not the case for you today because the tears are warm and loose.
When you’re attending an event and your niece shows up and you haven’t seen her for too long because of stupid adult things and stupid adult shame and she aims her brown gaze at you and her irises are two holes thumbed into rich loam waiting for seed and she blinks with confidence because she knows her worth and she holds you locked within her bright disappointment well then you brace yourself and open the garage door to your soul and dump the trashcan on the cement floor and sort through what’s real and what’s imaginary and then you close the garage door and offer her a seat in your lap that she refuses but instead she sits very close and within a few minutes her hand creeps into yours and you are both exquisitely aware that there is an entire table of sugary confections at this event but maybe it’s best to avoid it because there’s no sneezeguard and so many dripping children but then she looks at you and you look at her and yolo so the two of you walk up to the table and you snag a mini cannoli and a chocolate round thing filled with chocolate stuff and your belly is full of sweetness and your head thaws like frozen cookie dough on a warm countertop and it no longer feels like hot pie spattering with cherries the kind in the thick red sauce that bubble and splash the inside of an oven like a crime scene while caramelizing the air.
One way to keep your head from exploding when your friend calls you and she is drunk and suicidal is to tell that friend if she kills herself you will kill yourself too and you will find her in whatever circle of hell she’s landed and eternally chase her with a sharpened stick so that her death will not be the end to her suffering and then after threatening your friend who is threatening herself you will stay up with her all night providing endless distraction until you can tell she’s too tired to murder who you love and then you will call her in the morning when she’s sober and remind her to look for a therapist as well as seashells and casually bring up that you’ve spanned many centuries as friends and you’ve always loved her and there is no difference from how the two of you were in 2403 BC except now there is TikTok instead of clay tablets and you are both laughing and a bit sloppy with oxytocin and though you know her heart has been minced and glued together and minced again you tell her that a bedroom wall spattered with blood and a gun dropped to the floor will douse the pilot light of your heart forever it will destroy it with freezer burn and you’re not fucking around and she best throw out the bottle of Jack or you’ll fight her but you’d rather give her a long hug and play with the dog then wash your hands and chop onions and she says okay okay you love me okay and you do love her you do.
If you’d like your head to stay whole and not explode into bits when walking with your mother who loves you with an intensity that stuns perfect strangers but cannot stop talking about all the ways the world will end you can ask her to hold your glove so you can take a picture of dew on a spider web or say whoa look at the shades of brown in that pasture of goldenrod and point out the tumor-shaped galls that provide homes for the larvae that the chickadees eat through the winter and when your mother offers a challenge and says there is something even more beautiful and points to a frozen puddle to be cracked with the tip of a duck boot in the deep quiet of February and then she talks about the birds who eat daily from the feeder outside her kitchen window you relinquish the game and your patience is a larva nestled deep within a gall that your mom can pick and eat like a chickadee and you can dissolve into her belly and fly with her through the miracle that is mother and tree.
One way to stay sane and not slam your head against the soapstone countertop when your daughter is yelling at you because she dislikes how her hair looks after sleeping for ten hours and you’re staying calm in order to model emotional regulation but inside your guts are spattering like hot cherries and threatening to caramelize the air is to take a coffee mug in your hand and pretend there is a special juice in the mug that is red and berrylike and will allow you to bounce over houses fly over entire lawns and rivers and with a single sip lighten into freedom because this red juice is a heart blood elixir and now you can bounce upstairs and calmly demand she stop being rude and once she chills the eff out go fix her pony with the special comb that doesn’t snag the baby hairs that still edge her forehead and don’t you dare be mean to your husband once the bus picks her up but instead give him a sip of the red berrylike juice and tell him you will have sex with him mid-air as you are bouncing over the city where you grew up and are still learning to love and everyone will say oh look a spy balloon and they will run to get their binoculars and guns but some just their guns and you will almost get shot which makes the sex more exciting yahoo and those who had the smarts to grab binoculars will see your husband and you stuck together sailing over houses in a pornographic way and someone with a very powerful camera will film it and you and your husband will be YouTube sensations and then you can retire early and buy a beach home and you will not allow your head to spatter like a cherry from guilt because you’ve won the lottery of free time and luxury and instead you will accept it and enjoy it and sprawl across the sand and your head will bob with the sea because you kept it from exploding and this is how you do it.