Za za zoo story

What do you call the little something that hides inside, sleeping and dormant, until the day it cracks its shell and you realize someone makes you smile? It's a force that rides the tide of human emotion, making the mild mighty and the brazen unable to utter a word. What is that push just under your ribs that keeps your heart in your throat, anitcipating another's return? It isn't a feeling that fills you. Rather, it's one that seems to empty everything out of your body suddenly, repeatedly, such that you think you might implode. It's the one that roars in the middle of "I ought to be gett-" and quiets to a purr only once you have that someone within arms reach. What do we call this maelstrom of emotion, this tornado of feeling?

I like to call it: Za za zoo.

Name it whatever you wish, butterflies, a spark, chemistry, puppy love, it boils down to the same little thing. Oh elusive za za zoo, wars have been fought in your name, epics have been written, countries given and taken, lives have been laid down to grasp at a piece of your bounty. How often we try to create, to hold, to keep you only to find you are a fickle mistress. Strange then that when we finally decide to walk away you blindside us from another direction.

Za za zoo strikes, often without warning and throws you into an upsideown inside out world that you can't and don't want to get out of. Za za zoo is a walking contrradiction, alternatively taking and giving, pushing and pulling, uping and downing, twisting and turning you around and around until your center of gravity gets sick of it all and decides to take a vacation. And the strange part is that for the same reason it throws us off balance, it makes life that much more interesting.

Za za zoo may bring it's baggage, no doubt. And that can be hard to handle. It starts to unpack before it checks to see if there's nearly enough closet space. So one day when you take a break from going out on the town with your Zoo (you're on a single name basis by now) you walk in and realize there are piles of stuff you never noticed. What do you do when it it outstays its welcome, when it sours and becomes a rotten pile of za za goo? Throw it back from whence it came as fast as your heart will let you, and hope when/if it comes back it might have learned some manners? But, mounds notwithstanding, the scariest part about knowing za za zoo, and those who have done so will agree, is that just as fast as it comes, za za zoo may take a hasty exit and say no goodbye. Leave you missing those hated piles.

Because try and make za za zoo behave the way you want it to, force it to put things away before it's ready and you take away it's powerhouse, the luscious vowels it feeds on (a double ah and an ooh). And then za za zoo takes a nap, all you're left with is zzz. Which defeats the purpose of having it over in the first place. Za za zoo is like a eccentric relative, if you want it to live the way you normally do, then you're just going to be frustrated. If however, you enjoy it's insanity for the laugher inducing, butterfly inspiring, neck prickling experience it has the potential to be, even if it changes your daily routine, za za zoo may come for an extended visit. In fact the only thing that seems to keep za za zoo under control is opening the door, shaking its hand and giving it the guest room. If you're lucky it might just move in for good.

So know that I'm wary and I'm watching you this time, za za zoo. You and me both. We've been uncomfortable bed fellows in the past. And I've got some new rules: No eating the food in the fridge until you've bought some groceries, don't leave dishes in the sink you don't intend to clean and I am definitely not making the bed by myself.

But.

The door is open. And I hope you'll unpack your socks.