The only one in the pool

Dad and Susan were unspeakably nice to me today, paying for an hour massage in a posh spa. I lay there having my muscles kneaded, selfishly silent. Then I went in the hot tub, and sauna and finally finished up with a swim. The sky was dark; it was about to rain. The clouds boiled up in the sky, looking like a pit of elephants. I did 20 laps as quickly as I could, willing my ever-present stress away. Most times I can feel it at the base of my neck. It feels like bees buzzing, with my brain following it in circles: "Don't forget to pay your credit card bill! Isn't it time to make a doctor's appointment for Violet? Shit, I forgot to call somebody back yesterday, I know it!" Etc. etc. My neck feels light now. My arms are tired from swooping through the water.

I float on my back in the pool, watching the sky. No one is around. I am the only one in the pool. It is like the images I focus on to make myself go to sleep; my favorite one being me alone on a beach with only my footsteps disturbing the smooth, white sand. It is silent. All I hear is the ebb and flow of water in my ears. It's only when I get a relief from the stress that I realize how much I carry; sometimes in the afternoons I feel like my heart's beating too fast, like I'm dizzy. I'll never get it all done, I'll never have the laundry finished and dinner done and the kitchen floor clean and my editing work done perfectly, and Violet happy at the same time. It's not too much to do, but somehow it feels like it.

I float. Wind paints my cheeks and ruffles the water. Thunder sounds and I reluctantly scramble out of the pool. It's 5 o' clock, the hour I designated for myself as the responsible hour to return home. When I get there, my cousin-by-marriage Lori is there with her two kids, my second cousins, Kyle, 14, and Hannah, 10. Violet's so excited to play with them that she gives me a perfunctory hug and rushes right back over to them. They pick out bead necklaces for her to wear and wrestle her gently. They're so sweet to Violet. She's in heaven. Sitting here, slumped on the couch, the buzzing bees seem far away. I experience joy.

I wish there were a way to tell Dad and Susan how good this feels, how huge it is to lay down the 100 ton weight I carry every day. "Thank you" doesn't seem to cut it. Instead, I made some decisions in the pool, where I could finallly think. I'm ready to make some changes. I don't like living with this stress, feeling secretly like I'm almost always ready to burst into tears. It's too much. It's time to do something about it.