Fuck Magnets

I am losing my mind.

I am constantly losing more mental real estate to the trivial day to day. This is what it is like to be a person with concerns and desires, I'm sure. The discerned fact that listlessness is malaise is troubling to me, though that's is perhaps another topic I don't know how to explore.

Right now I'm losing my mind on this poem, because it is unexpectedly alright. Usually I wait to revise my poems until I have to. Usually I don't revise them.

But more than any task or poem, I have been losing my mind to something else. This something has moved in, every day seeping ever quicker into every cerebral niche. Fueled by something mysterious and hopeful, it dominates my wandering mind. Popping into my head in daily moments, I can't help but obsess over the brief and minor details. She bubbles up in a stomach drop detailing something like excitement, something like comfort, something like fear.

Because I don't know what to do.

I live an honestly stagnant life where papers don't motivate, days tick by in unexciting ways, and tomorrows beg for resolution. And I can't remember the last time I was this happy.

Sometimes that happens I think. Sometimes you're happy followed by sometimes you're sad, but this is not a sinusoidal event. This is not a bite-sized fix or an outlined mantra. This is not the calming realization in which I had reflected that things are well and how great and happy it is and certainly must feel. No, that's not even true! This is large. This is a different sort of living.

As I've aged I've learned. I've learned I don't like destinations. This life I have been living lately is living outside of commitments too long to fathom. I won't refute that I have always controlled my destiny, but these days it's just a lot easier to say.

This, is holding the compass and picking north.