What is it when you walk around slightly dazed, yet feeling the coiled- up spring of a tiger’s tail in your gut, ready to pounce on anything or anyone who crosses your path?  When the impulse flashes to punch yourself in the nose to awaken from the eyes-open coma you feel in your soul?  Perhaps the split-second shock of pain would snap you out of it?  The lack of feeling feels like too much February grey.

It’s raining, so I can’t shock out of it with a run- though in college I had the gear and used to always run (and love it) in the rain.  Today I feel it may be my only hope, so the old yellow poncho that’s accompanied so many of my kids to camp may have to do for 30 minutes of cover, and my knees may have to ache in the cold, wet air.

My kids are moody.  Angst-ridden.  Coiled tiger’s tails themselves.  My Thirteen wants to know why he won’t see his dad for a month again (his dad will be out of town on “his” next weekend).  It’s unfair.  He is slamming around like a feral cat at the SPCA, and snarling every few minutes.  My Fifteen is getting over being sick.  My Ten wonders aloud why his friends don’t want to play with him.  My Eight and Eleven (for one more week- happy birthday, baby!) are holed up “cleaning the room,” but I hear the GameBoys on, so I imagine the dust bunnies are safe for another hour.

Me?  I’m going to resist punching myself in the face, screaming, cussing- I’m going out into the grey.