I am a nervous girl. The flush of my face has always given me away, but lately, it’s the tremor in my hands.
There is usually a tiny shiver running through my bandwidth, tippy-tapping out a body hum across the air. Perhaps its a call to the keyboard, a subconscious type, my muse breaking wind.
My daughter once asked why the air never gets colored when she runs her markers across its invisible face. Imagine what we’d see if it did. I imagine my fingers doing the same, typing out words on the air, watching them escape like warm breath in winter.
The tapping flutter is a thing passed down from my grandmother–head and hands in almost perfect motion. These days, even Ma keeps her signature to herself if she can help it. And what a thing that is–a woman who kept a vaunting pride in her script shirking it away, defaulting on a scrawl.
In the last year or two, my hands have betrayed my confidence too many times. I hide them in my lap. In my pockets. Gripped in my husband’s palm.
There is no shame in a body taking to its ancestral wiring. It’s almost primal. A filial ley line.
There is no shame, but I could do without.
To this end, I have given up caffeine: O’ joyous, caffeine, most precious saint, I denounce thee. (There are times you already know what the doctor will say, so do the work early.)
I have given up caffeine and rested accordingly. I took an entire week off writing. I slept in until the children drove me from my dreams and plopped me right in the middle of the here and now.
It has been a fairly dark week.
Today, I’m waking up, making goals, and writing down. I’d like to get some Throw Me Thursday action going, but I’m not sure how you feel about that. I need your help there.
So, what do you think? What games do you want to play? Can you handle decaf? Or what makes you shimmy shiver?