Ever feel as if you are just boxing everybody? As if every single thing is a fight? Spouse, kid, your body, folks on the street, the subway, the job, the “yuck” that comes across as news or mind movies at 2:30 in the morning?
And it’s not even a matter of its being one of those days. Rather, it is a state of mind. Active, alert, and punchy; always ready for the counter punch; for the stick and jab, for how one seemingly has to move from zero-to-sixty all the time.
My whole life is like that lately. Somebody is always in high drama mode around me. Spilled milk becomes an exercise in life at defcon four – and I think to myself, imagine if there was a real problem.
I’m boxing my past too. The flutter of memories and stories and things that did not happen that comes with losing a parent. Only one can’t box the dead. And really not the living either. It just is.