The Sudden Suggestion of Violins

Has it ever occurred to you, that you’re lying on the kitchen floor? I mean, there you are. You come to your senses. You’re eye level with the things that are tucked in corners, forgotten, dropped, lost. The first question a sane person might ask themselves is, “Why the hell am I lying on the kitchen floor?”

One moment, you might be standing there, waiting for the microwave to finish zapping your water for tea; the next, you are overwhelmed. It’s not physical pain exactly, but a sense of exhaustion so deep that all you can do is slide down the cabinets to the kitchen rug (which is a green and tan shag that looks nicer than it sounds) and once there, you stretch out and close your eyes. You might feel an irresistible urge to cry. This might be accompanied by the first stirrings of violins (an orchestra’s worth)—the sort that are often invited to play at adult pity-parties. After all, there you are, lying on the floor. And absolutely no one is coming to tell you that it’s dumb.

My kitchen has lovely Mediterranean tiles. The grout lines are huge, and also chipping, even though this floor is probably not even three months old. It was most likely a do-it-yourselfer by the landlord in an attempt to save money. So that’s what I’m thinking, lying there: This tile could use a touch more grout. Also, I’m noticing a line of dog hair adhered to the underside of the cabinets. There are two bread ties from my gluten free bread—the u-shaped kind, not twist ties. Something sticky is in the corner. What the fuck is that? I think. Plus, I can see that the shag rug really does go well with the tile. This close up, you can see. The colors match.

The refrigerator makes the strange noise it does when the freezer kicks on. The sound always makes me think that it’s on the brink of refrigerator death. It is wheezing and sputtering its way to its end. Its days of making ice cubes are numbered. From this position, I can see my easel in the corner of the dining room. Yes, I have an easel in my dining room. Why shouldn’t I create art in the general vicinity of where I create eggs benedict, or chicken soufflé? (Not that I’ve created either of those things . . .)

I should be doing something, I think. The thought breaks the spell. More precisely: I should be doing something, so why am I lying on the kitchen floor? The answer is surprisingly simple. Because there are moments in life that feel so sad, we cannot stand. Our legs will no longer support the weight in our hearts, which draws us down, closer to earth, where all things take root. We must breathe in. B r e a t h e. Release. Eventually, the pain will cover us, then pull away, and what is left in the receding wave is dog hair stuck to the undersides of things like errant whiskers; chipping grout;  bread ties and sticky tiles.

So simple. Get up. Mop.