The following story took place during the most chaotic time of my life. I was overwhelmed at work, and my home life was equally challenging.
Everyday, something weird happened. All I could do, was try to write it down so that I wouldn’t forget it.
Or, so I could get it out of my head so I could go back to work the next day – fairly clear-minded.
These were challenging years for me. I was working for the military, during a war. There were signs all over the base, urging airmen to “report suspicious activity.”
My whole existence, at that time, was suspicious. But, I had to keep my head straight, and drive through those gates everyday – with guns dangling from the hips of agitated soldiers. It’s amazing I lasted 15 years, while my house had been overtaken by something I couldn’t even admit – to anyone.
I wrote Confessions of a Mystic, during those years. It was an effort to purge.
This story is about asking my husband for a pair of elusive, warm socks. We had a spare room, with a dresser in it. I used to keep extra socks in that dresser, and had asked my husband to get me a pair – down our long hallway – at the other end of the house.
After he went back and forth, with the wrong pair, I finally followed him down the hall – so I could get them – myself.
I don’t know if writing all these events down helped me – or hurt me. Some of these things were best forgotten, perhaps.
But, on the other hand, I felt like I needed to remember them.
After several years, I stopped writing them down – as I couldn’t keep up with them. I decided that I had become my experiences, in an effort to keep up the pace that I had become a part of.
Read this conversation slowly, and you will notice something that would have bothered anyone – if they had been here:
Me: Can you get me those socks from the dresser in the spare room?
(Leaves and quickly returns)
Him: They’re not in there.
Me: Yes, they are. Try again?
(Leaves and returns with one blue sock)
Him: How about this? I can’t find the other ones.
Me: Don’t make me come in there… (getting annoyed, following him down the hall to the spare room.)
Him: See? I told you they weren’t there. (showing me the opened drawer in attempt to prove it)
Me: Daggone it. (returning to bedroom)
As I enter the room I am startled and stop in my tracks. My dresser drawer in my bedroom has been opened while both of us were down the hall – exposing a large pile of long-forgotten socks.
Me: Who opened that drawer?
Him: I didn’t, and you followed me out.
Me: Did I open it before I followed you down the hall?
Him: No (he shook his head and started smiling)
Me: Who opened that drawer?
Me: Please check that drawer for those socks? (trembling, still wondering who opened it)
Him: Yep. Here they are…(handing them to me)
Me: But………….who opened that drawer??