Deflation

Is it defeat if I stay still? It's not like it's not a decision; even if it's the decision that doesn't require me to dig up roots and hope the wind isn't too heavy. What would I even do after I was done feeling fulfilled? Would that acceptance that it was all some necessary ridiculousness be worth it?

Perspective. That's what it's all about; that's what it's always, absolutely always, about.

Six months is a long time. It won't feel long, but it is. Every moment is an eternity. And no matter what the ease, the wage, or the person, it will always feel like I'm failing when those moment tick and I'm not somewhere new. That's a lot of pressure, but it's everything I am.

Place Holder

Holy FUCK! The fucking CHOICES.

Where do I begin, and where, oh where do I end up? It racks at me silently, starts with a nag and ends with a tantrum of short-lived epiphany. And then I wake up and it's replaced, switched up when I wasn't even watching.

When I pay attention it all get's fuddled too. Jobs, meanders, friends, family, and joy: they're all one way and the other, and they won't stay fucking still for one god damn minute. So why should(n't) I?

Masochism

Let's be honest, now that it's just you and me baby, I fucking hate chlorine. And I'm just not masochistic enough to do food service. Maybe I'm still looking real hard for some thing to sell my soul too, but it's just not a competitive wage.

Though maybe, and I know I've been fighting this one for a while, it's not "just not," but rather "not just". I grew up with a 20 in my pocket, and yeah maybe I know how to live like I don't have a dime, but I don't want to live like that. And I don't know if I can without getting even more bitter, greedy, and crotchety. But hey, maybe that's the whole problem right there.

A Sound Foundation

These furtive moments that seem so important have no longevity outside of nostalgia. Our way back whens eventually catch up to us, but back then they were nows, and they were momentarily everything. I think that's strange. I think that's deceptive. Every day I wake up and fear what actions will haunt me, what inaction I'll rue. As it happens, each moment is one tiny block in a built multitude, vast and concealing. Sometimes it's best to remember this momentary attribute of life, but then again, I think that only makes the less enjoyable bits that much harder to bear. And I know there's another way to look at it, but I just can't seem to get the hang of it.

I tell myself to take each day like a lighting storm and vibrate like each second is more than just that: but a drop of lifetime, an eternity in itself. Faded pictures evoke, belly laughs echo, and all in all the past enables.

And when the sun is shining it's good.