Windshield Wipers

Since the middle of this pasts December ,it’s been difficult to not only get outside from the safety of my home, yet when tested, there is so much anxiety that that I am more often taking public transportation . With rising up to my disability , this new limitation, this compounding any hint of weather, makes life a tad difficult , to say the least.

The rain is misting enough to render my rides wiper blades useless they squeak and skittle across the front of me, the fog from the inside from a low emissions defroster is making it harder to see outside, which is anxiety comforting, along with dirt that is smudging on the exterior glass , but the over all glare from the street lights makes me wonder if it was a good idea to trust that evening.

Half way home, at a stop light, I watch my wipers downward rise up and sketch and squeak back down again.

I wonder how many times my eye contact moves along to size up the difference of people and how it appears to disregard. I wonder how this movement in eye contact trains the recipient, sometimes taking merely three seconds to make or break a friendship.

There is the time , more felt on rainy, icy days, in taking slight delight over palliative care of oneself while hidden in a condo. If there was a slight chance to find a vanity mirror, looking up and looking down, somebody is looking pretty darn sick. Maybe in the past, a lover tended to you, remembering how they preferred to be treated during convalescence . Maybe there is no such thing as saints or sinners , but to whom you credit as your paladin in times of difficulty, this may have been Dympha’s friends after all.