Blips

I’m running as far away as I can from anywhere. All directions. Seeing all points falling into the distance, I still run. There’s too much in the air that’s left. Too much resonating. I feel the vibrations in my skin. I know I’m still too close. Still to near what it was I was running from. I can’t stop. I must continue to move forward. Forgetting careful steps. Forgetting paths. Forgetting direction. Just away.

****

I like to hide.

Finding a safe place that’s just my own. I can be myself here. The vulnerable self.

Like a Turtle, I have to gather strength for the day. The morning ritual. Alarm. Let dog out. Take shower. Coffee. Breakfast. Day.

Counting down till the moments when the day is real again. Inside my cave the time doesn’t matter. It’s “real life” that takes the hours.

****

Forceful vulnerability is one of the most cruel and unusual punishments.

Warmth and Weather

I feel like a dog.

Windows rolled down. Hair blowing in the breeze. Panting.

I love it.

SuperHero

Since I could dream they were filled with the desire to be remembered. Filled with a possibility of somehow being greater.

The events that follow prove to be somewhat limiting. However, being that I’m only 24 going on 25, I can see now I have time.

Previously feeling constrained by the counting seconds, I now feel something greater, time. Time for what it is.

I am in training for the attainabilty of what I know is to come. Forcibly so.

What is life but missed opportunity? I never want to feel the sting of regret. Truer then most failings, regret is so long-lasting. In memoirs we leave them to continue forward. Forward carried in the eyes and ears of our descendants.

One day, long from now, I want the wind to whisper my name. But more so, even if I was just “that one girl,” I’d be fine. For it’s what was done and the acts that are remembered that are of significance.

Being recollected is only the small of it.

Let my war cry ring from the mountains as I am now wanting my life to be mine, shared.

We are communal and in that I want us all to have these same desires.

I do have a dream and I hope I never awaken. For sometimes the dreams are greater.

Morning-side.

Why do we hold on? Ever fearful of what’s to come we trudge. Calves sore, feet salted from sweat. The ground hot like the beach thick like mud. Continuously traveling uphill.

A treadmill set at incline 10, pack on back, summer sun, forgot breakfast.

At some point we tell ourselves it’s worth it. Who’s worse, us to ourselves or others to us? I knew there were liars and thieves, away from me and in the distance, but never have I felt so comparable.

But it’s worth it.

Wondering what “it” is.

Lately I’ve been practically in-able to wake up. It’s as if no matter the dream it is better than the awake. My comatose reality plays tricks, however, creating strange awareness and frustrations.

I tried to start a book and I couldn’t focus.

I need to focus.

I need coffee, for life.

 

Beer Me my Baggage

Children. Spawn. Minnies. They have one-upped me yet again. Or have cause for me to be jealous.

child

adolescent, anklebiter, babe, baby, bairn, bambino, brat, cherub, chick, cub, descendant, dickens, imp, infant, innocent, issue, juvenile, kid, kiddie, lamb, little angel, little darling, little doll, little one, minor, mite, moppet, neonate, nestling, newborn, nipper, nursling, offspring, preteen, progeny, pubescent, shaver, small fry, sprout, squirt, stripling, suckling, tadpole, teen, teenager, teenybopper, toddler, tot, tyke, urchin, whippersnapper, young one, youngster, youth

The blinding light that is realization and responsibility to my own-self is closing me off. The catastrophe that is worry and expectation is like the calm before the storm. Here I am preemptively calling out to my soon-to-be disabilities.

Traveling with a carry-on? Yes. Because I’m sure some of my over-stuffed baggage will get lost along the way. My carry-on will be a good indicator as to what all that was about, quantifying my baggage in a mere hallucinative mirage. It’s there but not. Desperately clinging to what is within the confines of the zippers and protective layers. Without that baggage I am what? Memories forgotten. Experiences once pronounced as unforgettable are nothing but recollection.

bag·gage

noun things that encumber one’s freedom, progress, development, or adaptability; impediments: intellectual baggage that keeps one from thinking clearly; neurotic conflicts that arise from struggling with too much emotional baggage.

The “children” have it right. The no fear. The innocence. They have the ability to stumble, fall, bleed, band-aid and move forward. Forward to stumble, fall, bleed and band-aid all over again.

Riddle me this: After falling off a horse one is supposed to pick oneself up and get back on. What if said horse than tramples rider into an almost comatose state, life trickling, then kisses said rider on the cheek. Are you ready for more?

Guess that wasn’t a riddle.

Oh Minnies of society, infect upon me your ways.

This just in

On a plane, flying to a new destination. Vacation maybe. Journey maybe. I know the place, I know the length of time. What’s to learn is what will be accomplished. Who will I meet, where will I end up. Transitional.