Oh, That Ice

The first time I noticed the ice in my gut, it was when my younger brother came up the stairs to interrupt my video game playing to inform me that my sister, Sarah, may have passed away. A huge chunk of ice, sharp and cold and dense, grew within an instant. It was uncomfortable, it was weighty, and it was all things wrong.

This block of ice, chuck of ice... whatever, has invaded my gut time and time again. It always manages to vanish, always dissolves back into nothingness. But every one and again, it shows up like a bad habbit or an annoying mosquito when you're trying to sleep and its dark and you can't see it to swat and kill it, but its there. Oh, God in Heaven, is it ever there.

Sometimes I know why it shows up. Specific events have caused it to surface. Over the summer, some student loans people kept trying to talk to me and I figured it was something horrible, maybe that they weren't going to give me any more loans and I'd be out on my butt in the streets rather than out on my butt at Drake. But they wanted to update my address for shipping and letter purposes, nothing more. The ice was there, however, letting me know it was ready to make me wish I was dead.

Other times I don't know why the ice is there. It simply is. It shows up, most times, like this... and usually signals something huge or major that is going on, either behind the scenes - literally - or just in my subconcious. Something huge or major, but most definately bad.

Today I have that ice. And I'm trying to determine what it is there for, this time. If I can figure it out, I can usually get rid of it pretty quick like and move on with my life again. But sometimes I simply can't. Every once in a great while, I never solve it. And either the major or huge thing takes place and I feel completely blindsided, or nothing ever seems to happen and I just move on (but something probably did happen and I was just naive to notice it).

I hope its nothing. Maybe its always been nothing.

I don't know.

I don't want to grow up.