Frazzle Dazzle Do

I am frazzled.

Like when those wispy pieces of hair around my face get all sticky-uppy and create a halo of disheveledness . . .

      and my eyes dart back and forth, juggling with no hands . . .

               and I'm wearing turquoise velour pants which go with absolutely nothing.

  Picture it?


That is frazzled.


I always wonder, when people encounter me, if they feel like they've been thrown into a whirlwind.


I'm not a fan of frazzled.



I like to sit . . . letting moments quietly blossom
                                       like tender green shoots
                                                   poking out of deep, rich soil.

      I like time to take its time . . . unfolding gently
                   thick like chocolate
                           quiet as a cashmere shawl
                                                       wrapping around a conversation
                                                                 holding a moment like a pearl.

I like words such as:
        peace,
           stillness,
                rest,
                  linger,
                       soak.


Soak . . . yeah, that's a good one.


Maybe I could do a frazzled soak.
             
                A quiet stillness within the spinning whirlwind.
 
     Peace within the ballyhoo.


I could call it a Frazzle Dazzle Do.

(Which sounds more like a dance move.)

Which would be fun too.