“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I don’t know what I am doing! I’m trying to figure that out!” The words were pressured, impatient.
“What don’t you call it The Game of Knots?” I happily volunteered, for I had found a secret to this madness and I wanted to share it.
Mom was supposed to be getting ready for work but instead she was looking at me, dumbfounded. I knew at the time she was trying to tell me this was how she perceived me: disorganized, directionless, chaotic. What she didn’t see was the piece of paper I kept moving around the house, and the knots I was making, placing each on something to make combined object-messages.
Knot+banana, I was not bananas.
Not+bell, I was not a bell, not able.
I was not able to explain what happened to me, I was not able to communicate what I was experiencing. Inside I was all tied up, confused, afraid, and very much alone.