I know nothing of aerodynamics but I do know that I have a helicopter in my head.
The propellers begin to spin slowly, slowly at first. Then faster and faster they pick up speed.
I feel a rush of wind, a little cyclone swirling counter clockwise.
My feet take leave of the ground.
Climbing skyward, I soar over the trees. I taste the clouds.
There is a lightness of being almost too delicious to describe.
I hover high above the earth. My heart beats so, I hear the swoosh, swoosh of a rush of blood.
Heaven expands before me. Space and time, they stretch.
Gazing above, I truly believe the only direction is up.
Gravity has no hold on me.
Gazing down, I have no fear.
No fear at all.
Buoyant. Euphoric. Exquisite.
Or at least hypo-mania.
A mild and manageable outbreak.
Please do not ask me to medicate it away.
Yes, I have a helicopter in my head and I like it that way.
Hypomania is flying just under the radar at optimal altitude. It is the passion of a polymath.
(I love that word – “polymath”. Go look it up!)
This Peacock believes herself to be a person of insatiable curiosity. Engaging in encyclopedic endeavors. And with boundless energy, of course.
I blog. I preach. I write. I teach. I walk. I read. I talk and talk. I swim and float and dive in deep. I delight, dig in, and devour my work. I scatter seeds and rattle beads. I vocalize and volunteer. I spin tales and search for holy grails. I cruise the river front. I wander DC. I pound the pavement in front of me. I breakfast with the birds, lunch alone, and dine with friends. I binge watch Stranger Things. I speed read three tomes at a time. And I drink lots and lots of coffee.
My head expands exponentially as does the universe, so Hubble says.
The world is so, so wonderful, I dare not miss a thing. I dare not go to sleep.
My brain says that I do not have to.
I stay up later.
I wake up earlier.
I hear the engine sputter. I feel the propellers falter, the copter lunge and lurch.
Turbulent, nauseous, like stumbling and tumbling over rocks.
Sky sick, I lose control.
The ground comes rushing towards me.
I hate when this happens.
My grandiose pride bruised. It begrudges me my humanity.
But wings of wax melt in the sun. Weight returns to my body. More than I would like to admit.
You know, I think I need a mental health day. I play hookie and “call in crazy.”
“Yes, Joani,” my colleague Chuck says, “that sounds like the sane thing to do.”
So I do.
Drink coffee in my pajamas.
Stretch out on the couch.
Read the paper.
Surf Hulu and wade through Netflix.
Take a late shower.
Gather my thoughts.
Scribble them down.
Publish and post them on U&U.
The helicopter has landed.
This Peacock is safely on the ground.
NOTE: Manically submitted at midnight, Sunday, September 12, 2016.