On Edge

I have always been somewhat of a packrat. Being raised by Depression-era parents, it’s hard for me to part with a good box. I can use it again. Or bubble wrap. Why go pay for that when I’ve got it for free in that package that just arrived?

Then there’s the memorabilia packratness. Drawers are scattered with matchbooks from restaurants I once visited even though I have little use for matches since I quit smoking 8 ½ years ago; pens I’ve “borrowed” from the nicer hotels. I’ve got scraps of paper scribbled with website addresses, quotes and ideas for essays. I can’t throw away a photograph no matter who it is or what it’s of. There are ponytail holders – now that my hair is getting long enough to eek out two scrawny pigtails and emery boards for my horrid nails. There are coupons for places I’ll probably never frequent, but think I might someday; keys that unlock places I don’t know.

In my effort to try and organize a drawer the other day I came across a small picture of a volcano I had clipped from a magazine; the quote printed across it read “Anger is a sign that something needs to change.” I took it as a sign that I found it as it seems to suit my mood lately.

Ready to blow. Ready for a change. Kind of scaring myself. Missing my space. Creating it in not the best of ways. And all the while the anger simmering just under the calm surface.