Without this: an entry in the Artsy Essay

Quick, there is the sudden blare of the smoke detector and smoke fills my nose, burning my lungs and leaving a taste of melting wire in my mouth.

It is dark in the house.

And late.

And I was sleeping.

Bolting out of bed I quickly am reminded that indeed, I do have MS because my floor sways gently like a sail boat on the calm open seas; with enough pitch to let me know I do not yet have my land legs.

With the clarity granted only to lunatics I begin "the list of things to grab" as I hit the floor on my hands and knees; Holly's hand made giraffe stitched lovingly out of a delicate purple flower material, my wooden jewelry box with the broken hing that my mother gave me, the nine foot iron giraffe, the pirate's treasure chest and semi-precious jewels, my grandmother's hand written letters from Iran during the time of the Iranian hostage crisis, the envelope from the coroner's office still containing my father's Harley Davidson wallet from the night he was murdered, my 1860 bible from the Church in New Orleans that was destroyed by Katrina, my Bible I actually read and mark in, my wedding photos that I have not scanned into Photo bucket yet, my other photos and oh my mother's artwork that can still be save. Oh my. Her art work.

I have so much of it, crawl faster.

My writing. O.h.

And how shall I save the vastness of my imagination and the depths of my soul? Would I count this amongst my favorite of things? The smoke begins to cloud my mind, to slow my thoughts and my crawl.

Carefully, desperately, I lift my head trying to see further ahead into the room. If only there were more time to save it all. If only.

And then I hear them, my most prized possessions crying for me to wake up from my bad dream with:

"Mommy it's not dark out now, time to get up we are SO hungry."










The Artsy Essay is back! ~Judith