First Aid Kit

There’s one in the kitchen and one in the car, with band-aid, ointment, and gauze. But sometimes the hurts aren’t blood or sting. Sometimes it’s a pinch to the ego or a bruise to the feelings, an accidental bite on an old worry, or the lying crush-hug of depression. Then conventional band-aids won’t do. In those cases, I need another kind of first aid kit.

Contents:

* Comfortable clothes.

* Sunshine.

* A few sheets of paper and my favorite kind of pen.

* An inspirational poem.

* A fluffy, clean towel to rub against my face. 

* A small, safe space into which I can first crawl, then press against, then escape.

* A box in which to keep the sadness, frustration, rage, confusion, apathy, and all the other feelings that make up the weft and weave of the heavy cloak of impossibility and self-doubt. 

* A pretty, humane surprise, a demonstration of genuine love between people. A tiny daisy-in-the-fist-of-a-three-year-old of human compassion.

* A play list of music. Some songs can be angry, but not defeatist; there must be a kernel of hope. Some thumpy-asskicking-boots drum lines are helpful now and then. Clever lyrics about anything in the world would not be remiss.

Some bits expire (just like medicinal ointment), so I should check them for efficacy from time to time and make replacements as necessary.

Now, what sort of container will hold all of these things?