Moose in the Kitchen

I never read the business section of the newspaper (it contains neither shoes nor comics), but I made an exception today. Why such an unprecedented change in policy? Because it offered to explain the inner workings of my soul based on the contents of my email inbox.

I’m generally smart enough to roll my eyes when confronted with nonsense like my inbox being able to say anything meaningful about me, aside from “You’re kind of a slob”. But I was curious. Curious to see how my inbox would betray me this time – usually it just swallows an email with a contented burp and calls it a day. But according to the infinite wisdom of the business section, my inbox declares me paralyzed in most aspects of my life. I didn’t want to give in to the Unlikely Assertion Drawn From Innocuous Personal Information syndrome, but this sounded mighty familiar. Several people in recent memory have mumbled “paralyzed” in my general direction. Since recent memory for me means “sometime in the last three days,” I decided to jot paralysis down on a post-it note and forget about it.

Suddenly, my usual solution seemed sub-par. Paralyzed, in its most hazy sense, means not doing anything. Right? Perhaps I have reached that crux in my life, the one where writing something down on a post-it note and forgetting about it is NO LONGER GOOD ENOUGH. I may have hyperventilated a bit at this point. I certainly clutched my post-it notes to my chest and wept. Luckily, a convenient plate of Christmas cookies revived me long enough to look up paralysis in the dictionary. Here’s what the dictionary told me:

Stop reading stories with titles like How To Determine If You’re Absolutely Insane By Checking The Contents Of Your Kitchen Drawer, you dork. Also, Paralysis: 1. complete or partial loss of function, 2. a state of powerlessness or incapacity to act.

Part of me fears paralysis. The rest of me enjoys its insular qualities, the ones that encourage flopping down on the couch with a book rather than addressing a problem or doing something constructive. It’s a comforting haze that sucks you in and doesn’t spit you back out until something gets bad.

Several years ago, a few key bits of my anatomy simply didn’t want to function*. No, not my brain, but thanks for the thought. I didn’t go to the doctor for months. And then more months. And then a few more, just to be absolutely sure my life was good and miserable. After a kick in the ass, a break up, and lots of physical therapy, I learned the Don’t Let Yourself Get Paralyzed lesson in a very specific way. I now go to the doctor for a hangnail. (Seriously.) But everything else? Forget it.

Writing? Paralyzed. Remember this? Yeah, still haven’t so much as opened a word document. Friend making and keeping? Paralyzed. (See also: doesn’t like to use the phone.) Cleaning the house? Yeah right. I did recently figure out where we keep the broom – and I’ve discovered the fun to be had while chasing the dog around the living room with the dust buster.

We’ll call that progress.

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* Sorry to be so vague. But this is a story that deserves its own post. Maybe its own series of posts. Possibly an entire book. Filled with really short sentences. Like this one.