On the verge.
I love that phrase. And I think that's where I live...always on the verge. Not quite here, definitely not there. Always somewhere inbetween. I should be living in PT (post-thesis), but instead, I'm in limbo, a dream-like purgatory where I'm treading water and make absolutely no progress.
Imagine that I am floating in a lazy boy cloud. That's how I feel today. On the verge of noon.
[Speaking of being on the verge, I have a recommendation for you. Voices on the Verge. It's simply beautiful. and, if you want, you can get one for me too.]
I've decided I cannot put off the adoption any longer. Yes, it will be hectic. Yes, it will be expensive. And yes, it might just get dirty.
But BioDad threatened me yesterday; reminded me that HE was the legal parent, not me. Someone is leading him to believe I can't eliminate him from the equation. A simple backspace. There's a voice in his head that has tricked him into believing that he holds the cards, has the power.
BUT. That's a fallacy. It's illogical. Therefore, I must right the situation. I must do what I have to to keep my son and keep him from being used as a pawn for a selfish child's whims.
And to do this...to liberate my little family, I must stop running in place. I must pull up my roots and move. Not in the literal sense. No, think figuratively, think of that rough beast "moving its slow thighs" towards birth.
Or re-birth. As is also the case here. I have no resolution other than that. I must re-birth my determination to live a life not like my mother's or my father's. And the longer you tread, the more numb you are, the closer you are to complacency.
I am not complacent. This is not what I want for my life. I must shake off this sluggish shroud, must unearth my roots, slice through the urge to settle (to be done with it all)...
I must do all this and live my life. For myself, for my son, for our future.
My noon is out there, waiting like fruit to be picked, ripe with the colors of flame.
I am coming.