Dedicated to those who experience the world in disbelief.


Spinning. Spinning.

When I opened my eyes

when I closed them

When I breathed.

When my 8-year old came in to kiss me on the forehead. 

I am annoyed by his act of love that shakes the bed like a tidal wave.

I just needed the world to stop


The sunlight streamed into my room but I shuddered at it's anger. It's violence.

It was morning, after all.


I crawled on my belly, crying, crying that I just need it 

To Stop. 

"Try this," well meaning friends wrote to me.

"This worked for me," they said.

I tried.

I felt worse. 

I wanted to stay in this bed - hide from a world that assaulted me from every angle.

To envelop myself in the warmth of the place where dreams happen, where soft kisses are exchanged, where the heat of husband's body can be felt from the other side of the bed.

Familiar. I know he is there.

Spin in.

Spin in the cycles of life and death and violence and terror and

Lone wolves in sheep's clothing.

In the soft, White, curls

Spun in

To fabric that I'm told keeps me warm on a cold day

That is good for me. That is innocent.

But I feel cold.

Cold stares, cold shoulders, cold reception when I scream that I just need the world to 



I feebly pick up the phone and take action.  "Helpme," I cry to the doctor's receptionist. "I can't make it stop."

"The first available appointment we have is in three weeks."

"What should I do in the meantime?" I beg. My eyes closed. My hand to my head.

I feel myself falling forward.

They say, "Call your other doctor" but all I hear is 

"You're not our problem today."

And, so I lay back in bed. The blanket feeling less familiar. 

The bed cold.

My body helpless, victim to my surroundings.


Spinning stories. Spinning news. Spinning the blame. 

We don't need to fix guns, they say, we need to fix hotel security.

I pull the blanket up over my eyes, tugging, tugging,

stuck at the edge of the bed. 

Wondering who's problem this will be tomorrow.