A Cluster of Fucking Rubber Bands

Since I’ve been in Texas and people realized I’m in Texas.

The reason I’m in Texas.

I struggle with two seemingly basic questions, “How’s your mom?” And, “How are you?”

Like, woa?

When I fumble an, “Uhh. Well…

They’re quick to ask, “Like, what’s up with you? What’s going on?”

What I want to say. What you or I don’t have time to hear or say is:

That in my head there is this bright white room.

No doors. No windows. No furniture or any decor.

A cube.

I’m inside this bright white cube.

There’s this rubber band ball incessantly bouncing in this cube at a steady pace. The rubber bounce bass to the tick-tock echoes of an invisible metronome.

At this rhythm you can notice words  typed on each rubber band.

Black and blue ink words. Bold, thin, cursive or italics. Best fonts to elicit the emotion behind the word.

Each rubber band is a feeling you can find in the dictionary.

Depressed, angry, sad, longing, confused or scared, bitter, resentful…

Thick and thin bands holding this ball together. Bouncing at a controlled beat in this bright white cube.

But when asked those questions.

“How’s your mom?” And, “How are you?”

I guess, I’m supposed to answer, “Fine.”

Because, admitting that I’ve associated myself with a rubber band ball right now would encourage the cliche. Tiresome, empty and obligatory, “Anything you need.” And, “Stay positive.” And, “I’m here for you..y’all.”

Rubber bands. I’m a bouncing cluster of fucking rubber bands.

Vulnerable Verbiage

2 thoughts on “A Cluster of Fucking Rubber Bands

    • Thank you, Javon. No story really.
      My mom has been diagnosed with a really rare form of cancer, paraganglioma. I’m probably not spelling that right. The treatments (all very experimental) don’t seem to be working.
      So, every time I’m asked these questions a huge rubber band ball bounces in my head. There’s a ton of emotions and I struggle picking one to answer their questions.

      Like

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