Wind Me Up

B"H
Did you ever have one of those wind-up toys? The ones with little plastic feet and the knob on the side that you wind up and let loose to run across the table and fall over the edge? My family used to buy a silly wind-up toy whenever we were giving gifts. The wind-up teeth, duck, even the wind-up seal that you could put in the bathtub. I think we got that one for my sister's sixteenth birthday.
I feel like one of those wind-up toys. You have to hold them in your hand and wind the tiny knob on the side. They begin to quiver with pent-up energy, the legs clicking, anxious for movement.
So you let them go, and they race across the surface you have placed them on in mad, dashing circles.
Then they slow down. The circles grow smaller, the legs click with a softer rythm. Before you know it, they have toppled over, and lie feebly on their sides, cheap plastic bodies shuddering with an occasional twitch.
And you have to pick them up, and wind the knob, tighten the coils, ready the toy for another run.
It's been about three months or so that I've been living here in Crown Heights. Three months that feel more like five, filled as they've been with so many firsts, so many new things. And with so many old ones, old emotions that I'd forgotten. New situations, same logic. Same patterns. Sometimes, I know myself better than I think. Sometimes, I surprise myself. But right now, this week, I am sure of one thing.
I'm ready to be wound up again. To reel in the coils of energy, the resolutions and decisions and visions that propelled me when I arrived in September. I'm ready to suck in that deep, calming breath and take a look at my list. That list of wishes and hopes, and all those things that I really should do.
My knob's been turned and twisted tight. I'm quivering with pent up energy, aching to be moving.
What's frustrating is that two weeks from now, I'll be back, ready to be wound up again.
Those toys didn't really have a lot of staying power.