The Purge – Facing your fears.

The last of the snow melts away in the warm spring sun. The ice cracks on the lake hissing and popping.  It’s coming. Be ready. The temperature begrudgingly moves up a few degrees into double digits. There are no more excuses. Is now or never. It is THE PURGE! 

Winter fades away in our little abode and I dream of washing winter clothes finally able to tuck them away into, some random closet shelf. Or do they need to be washed? Hmmmm….

I have ignored the robins arriving. My head down intently clacking away on my keyboard writing at my fiction project in anticipation of an upcoming retreat. It is not time yet. 

But it lingers. The thing that mother’s all over the world (or at least here in Southwestern Ontario) cannot seem to escape. In the shadows it presses on our brains at night. Boxes. Storage Containers. Garage Sales. These words filter through our dreams, never going away.  

Spring arrives. The smell of fresh soil in the air as the first crocus pushes through reaching for the sun. Droplets of water, slightly warmer, tap on our rooftops. Random pieces of furniture appear on fronts lawns as if fairies brought them for a party. Still I write, desperate to cling to the last few days of winter hibernation before I am swallowed up, consumed with THE PURGE!

Plans are made.

“Of course we need an office. Extra money you say? No, we shall not save it. We’ll spend it and get our office. A wonderful brightly painted spot where the shelves will be forever organized and the children are not allowed. A dream come true.” 

“Mid-April start date? Sure. I can clean out the basement by then.” 

April 6th.

“Hon, did you start the basement yet? You know I”m away until Tuesday. You did say you would help… No? Really? Nothing? Maybe you can get it started? Okay..guess it will wait until I come home.” 

Night.

Sleep escapes me. I dream of random sleeping bags thrown in a pile from the last cousin sleepover. Fragile glassware spread on long white plank shelves. Gift bags from baby showers and birthday parties decorate the floor. Tissue paper crinkles underfoot. Unopened boxes sit in corners waiting to be discovered. The purge searches for me, reaching it long tentacles hoping to drag me down. But I will not give in. Not yet. 

For one more day I will hide. Tucked away in a silent cottage overlooking an ice-encased lake. The purge will not find me here. I am too far away. Tomorrow. Tomorrow as I hug everyone tight upon entering my house I will tell them,

“Yes, yes. I missed you!” 

Then after I tuck the children into bed after one more story, I will succumb. I will head to the basement to face THE PURGE and we will battle. For a week. And I will win. I always do.  

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