bug watching

this morning, in the extreme heat, i sat in my 5th floor studio apartment located in the projects and watched a bug crawl in circles. i watched the bug (a very large flying ant, i believe) frantically circle one floor board's width, falling occasionally in a crack and climbing out. it circled, fell, panicked, crawled. circle, fall, panic, move. circle, fall, panic, move. and i realized i am the bug. these movements represent my life at this moment. i am stuck, not between cracks on a floorboard; i am stuck in a crap neighborhood with crack addicts. and dealers. i circle the streets looking for a way out. i fall back to my home. i panic, breath i think, accept this as the present. breath. i move about again, looking for a way out.
i silently promised the bug that as soon as my nursing baby fell asleep, i would not kill it, but gently place it outside, which in essence would be the same thing as killing it. there are pigeons outside of the window and this bug would be a snack. i didn't promise it life, i promised my hands would not kill it.
i do not make a habit of bug watching. due to my living circumstances i am more aware of the creatures living with me. this morning i removed 2 pill bugs from the bathtub and placed them on the tiny outer windowsill. i admit that i smothered a daunting centipede, which i first mistook for a clump of my fine blonde hair. the 'pede was much too close to the baby. i removed one mouse turd from the crib vowing not to complain to my baby's father when he comes home from work.
he will be tired and hot. the last thing anyone deserves after hours of laboring is to come home to pestering and complaining. i keep it in. sometimes i can feel it, the complaining, forming a bile filled life in the pit of my stomach. but i keep it in. on really bad days i kneel on the bath mat with my face in a towel and sob. but this does not change the present. it is merely a temporary release of the fear inside. the fear that i may live here forever. the fear that i will become the people around me. the fear that i will accept this place. the fear that just stating these things will make it so.
i am reading. tolle. quinn. kurtz. ram dass. i am trying to grasp these beautiful concepts. i see them almost like shadows. i see the possibility of enlightenment. is see the possibility of light in me. its' right here in front of me - on a shelf i can clearly see, of which i can read the contents on the labels on all the jars, but i cannot reach anything there. no step ladder nor stool nor counter exists to climb upon. the shelves are such that they cannot be climbed or shimmied. there is no compromise. there is no shortcut. i will grow to reach the contents on the shelf. the shelf will not bend to meet me.
so i read. and i sob. i nurse my baby. i blow gently into the black curls on his sweaty brown head. i feel the sweat from his body running down my arm. i close my eyes and chant "i can accept this, it is the now, i can accept this, it is my now". i watch my beautiful boy sleep. i envy his peace. i watch the bug crawl in circles on the floor board and i promise it no death at my hands. i put the baby on the bed and pick mouse shit out of the crib. and i wonder how many others are doing exactly this. here. now.