This morning I found the camel with my karma sound asleep in one of my closets. Mad at me. Again. It had taken me days, possibly weeks to notice he’d gone missing.[bxA]
“What are you doing in here?” I turned on the light.
“What does it matter?” his sulking eyes spoke.
“You know I can’t help this, right?” I defended. It was the first time in a long time I had a moment to catch my breath. I did not feel like having this discussion again. So I didn’t. He’s still hiding in the closet. Or resting, as he says. I’ve worn him out.
Acclimating to the plugged-in, high-tech, worker bee frenzy of American life is like juggling on a unicycle while peddling across a tightrope. I can’t remember why anyone would ever want to be so busy doing so much. But everybody does.
I can’t keep up.
Emails, Facebook messages, Wall posts, blog posts, Skype chats, and even good old fashioned letters in the post pile up with the simple loving inquiry: Where are you and what are you doing?
I rarely respond and never answer the question, but it’s pretty simple:
I’m in Grapevine, Texas, working at my new C R A Z Y job, settling into my apartment and trying to make amends with the camel with my karma. He wants to know why I ditched him in Beirut last August and what I was doing all those months he couldn’t find me.
It has all been such a whirlwind; I don’t even know where to begin…