Pinball Wizard

I feel like a pinball.

Lights flash everywhere. As soon as I hit one target, I race toward the next.

I load the dishwasher then my son wants me to play. I kick a ball with my feet while my mind is stuck in the pinball game, wondering how many of the other flashing lights I can hit today.

I hit, hit, hit, wash, clean, run, fold, run, kick a ball, practice numbers, cook, load, unload, fold, cook, dress, brush, spin, hit, lights flash, bells ding, my son hollers, my cat escapes, my husband hollers, I holler, I ping off another target, miss three more completely, I race unencumbered to the space between targets, aiming for a break, when one of the damn flappers catches me JUST before I make it through, and I'm back in the game again.

I'm upset because I'm the one who pushed the flapper button.

I'm the one who can't stop pinging. Even when they sleep, I ping in my brain about all the things that I didn't finish, didn't even start, and all the ways I failed both of the men in my life today.

I don't sleep, I ping.

I ping about today's misses.

I ping about tomorrow's flashing lights.

And if I doze off, I'll wake a few hours before dawn and quietly tip toe to the bathroom, hoping to close my eyes again before the game whirs back to life but it CATCHES ME every time. It's 3am and the music is going and those silver balls start pinging in the game I think I'll never win.

Ping. Ping.

Ping.