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I Made It Through

Energy does return.
It might take its time,
But it comes back.
Slowly at first,
Intermittent spurts
Appear for mere
And disappear
Almost comfortingly
As the state of exhaustion has become
The temporary
New normal.
I stand up slowly.
I sit down with plops.
I fall asleep
Watching TV,
Hit the sack then for
Oh, about four or five hours
Waking up tired but sleepless.
Reality sinks in,
Synapses checking synapses,
Neural pathways, circuit breakers breaking and reconnecting,
Logic gates opening and closing and opening again.
Yes, the truth table reads.
Yes.  Not no.
Yes, you made it through.
No, my mind isn’t ready to believe.
And no, suspension of disbelief won’t work.
The truth table keeps on truthing.
You really made it through.
But, I ask my inner truth table,
What about how horribly my fingers shook?
These many decades I’ve made every mistake you can make,
But I don’t remember
My fingers ever shaking before.
And…? It asks,
Ttable lights patiently blinking
On and off
Off and on…
Jolting back into speech mode,
Impatiently it continues…
It was merely the anti-zone where no good thing can feel good.
In Michael Jordan’s happy zone, good things,
Such as flying high to your perfect dunk
Or a 30 foot nothing but net swish
Or getting signed by Nike to pitch their swoosh,
All these things feel good.
That’s the zone, good things feel good.
Hey wait, I ask, how do you know what Michael feels?
Look at his face while he’s doing it,
My table easily answers.
So I have an anti-zone you say Mr. Table,
Where good things feel bad?
Yes, and the lights blink.
That’s interesting, I think,
Silently, with no lights blinking.
Time to put the table away for a little,
Knowing I can bring it back out of its truth table closet when I need to.
I made it through.
I survived and did not die.
I did not collapse, either.
My songs did not disintegrate.
I didn’t trip or sneeze or break a string.
The audience didn’t hate me.
Some of them loved me, or
At least
They looked really honest
When the told me they loved me.
Well, not me,
My music.
I must have,
Wait, no,
I did make it through.
55 – 13 = 42.
For 42 years I’ve carried
A can’t-do-it – you know, mostly –
Or at least a you-haven’t-done-it
Or maybe just a have-not-done-it-yet
Soul within.
Now I haven’t actually done it, as in
IT is a special condition.
IT is just like walking or talking
Or running a race and winning.
IT is fluid and happy,
Where good things feel good, not bad.
If you’re fingers are shaking,
You did not play in the IT zone.
But I did do it,
It with a small i and a small t.
Let’s call it little it.
I did.
I did pull off little it and
Here I still am,
Not dead,
Not done,
No, not ready to go again yet,
But I will go again.
In little it land, you always go again,
And you always get closer.
Maybe little it land
Is the place on the other side of the river
Across the border in a new little country
Where you land when emigrate away from
I hope, but I may never do IT.
Let’s call the first country
The Land of Hopish.
Hope is a hellacious thing.
So necessary, oh my.
Without it, all ITs of every denomination
Are lost.  Without hope
There can be no it, no IT, no its at all.
42 years I lived as the King of Hopish.
Or maybe the King’s jester, knave, fool, idiot.
But I made it through
I am a survivor.
I am not a thriver.
That’s what I hope for,
Nay that’s what I expect
When I arrive – and may that day soon come –
Happily in the Land of IT.
Here in my brand new country of little it,
The view to the Land of IT
Is stunning.
I see its mountain peak in the distance
Like those blue paintings of Mount Fuji.
But here
I made through.
Yes, yes, yes of course,
I’m totally trying to persuade myself,
Not you.
I’m just being nice to you.
I’m letting you lift up the layer of skin
And see inside my soul
Just in case
You’ve lost all hope
Or still live in Hopish
Or for any reason
Haven’t done IT yet.
Don’t give up.
You’ve heard that before.
I’m saying it now.
Don’t give up.
Yes, you must
Be ready to march into hell for a heavenly cause.
You are?  Cool!
Go do it.
Even if it takes 42 years.
I say that you see,
Because I made it through.
Come join me in this wonderful land
Of little it.
We can live here as long as need until…
Once we’re ready…
We’ll storm the walls of
The Land of IT.
If we have to march seven times round,
Sounding our trumpets
In order to
Destroy its wall,
We will!
Let’s go conquer
The Land of IT.
While you ponder,
I’ll just sit here and
Quietly but exuberantly celebrate.
Why you ask?
But of course you surely know.
I celebrate because
I made it through.

One Comment

  1. Jeff wrote:

    Adrenaline. Our friend, and our foe; the Oppugnant Savior.

    What would we do without it? Yet, with it, our hands shake.

    Me, I’m addicted to it, but I control (to the best of my limited ability) how much I use. Hands shaking means I need to cut back. But ask anyone trying to cut back, it’s not easy to do.

    Tuesday, March 1, 2016 at 3:03 pm | Permalink

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