Nothing to see here.Stage 1 is a slight prickly feeling.Stage 2 is the beginning of a sting, visible…
Nothing to see here.
Stage 1 is a slight prickly feeling.
Stage 2 is the beginning of a sting, visible to an attentive loved one, maybe, but probably no one else.
Stage 3 begins to see an accumulation, nothing that could spill, but a shine that a reasonably perceptive person, even a stranger, might recognize. Countermeasures (marshalling your thoughts, attempting to push the emotions down in your chest) may be called for, depending on the circumstances.
Stage 4 means the brink of overflow, a dangerous accumulation. With active countermeasures the situation can be managed even in the presence of others, as long as darkness (as in a theater) or an available excuse to turn away and attend to some mundane task is available.
Stage 5 is actual release, though in a relatively small amount. A discreet wiping and a few minutes’ time (a decently long denouement before the credits, for example) can usually set things right.
Stage 6 is sustained release. You’re not going to conceal this, even from strangers, even minutes later. Hopefully you’re in private.
There are later stages, but as I’ve gotten older I encounter them less. The earlier stages, though, have actually increased over the last few decades. I blame the sense of vulnerability and impending loss (and to some degree the increased tendency toward sleep loss and fatigue) that accompanies parenthood. Because it was in the drive-through window at the fast food place down the street from the hospital, where I went to get something after the firstborn’s arrival, that a sudden unexpected Stage 4 heralded the new era.
What the hell? Where did that come from?
And it keeps coming. Today, dropping off the lastborn at school, he leaving with the bluetooth-enabled smartphone with which he commandeers the audio, the music (“Only Shallow” from Loveless) still playing, and unlike I usually do I left it on, and it kept playing as I negotiated the driveway and speed bumps back to the street.
As I exceeded bluetooth range the music cut out, then came back, then flickered a few more times before it was lost completely, and it struck me that it was a metaphor, because he’s learning to drive, and he’ll be a senior next year, and it’s not like he’s going to gradually fade from my life; it doesn’t work that way. He’ll still be playing at full volume, but for me it’s going to cut out abruptly, flicker a few times and then be gone. And just like that I’m sitting in the car at a 4 that’s threatening to turn into a 5.
Reposted from http://ift.tt/1I2vq1i.
