Hiding Out

Good ol’ Thanksgiving eve. And presently I’m thankful for my own little dark corner of the house where I’m hiding out from a massive amount of activity going on. I can hear Richelle and her Mom juggling the Thanksgiving preparations like they’re planning for an attack from the Russians. They’re rattling off a frenzy of English and Tagalog phrases- all of which my brain no longer has the capacity to register. It's funny that it sounds so much like they're right on the verge of throwing pans at each other when I know they're really just trying to figure out something simple- like do the plates with the fruit-basket designs match the mustard yellow napkins. I'd like to tell them that it really doesn't matter enough to stress about it, but I've realize long ago that each person must achieve enlightenment at their own pace. Then again, they could be discussing how to best go about boiling a white person. In which case, I'd rather not know anything about it until it's too late.

I resort to ear plugs and my happy place. Like Wesley Snipes playing a prisoner in Rising Sun. Someone asks him how he keeps his sanity with everything that is going on around him in the prison. He simply taps his forefinger to his temple and says,

“I live up here.”

This does sound appealing except I run into the obvious problem of having to live inside my head with all of the other personalities that are trying to crowd in there as well. It’s not much more peaceful than the things that are going on around me.