March 5, 2008

• Everything seems so rustic, so strangely stained and browned with time.  Perhaps it is the shifting of temperatures in such a pendulum inspired manner.  Maybe it is the red bricks staring back at me every day.  Maybe it is just me.

  I feel like I've been folded up carefully and stored graciously in a trunk for thirty years, and now I have been discovered and taken from my resting place.  The years haven't been kind, though.  While I was once a beautiful, delicate, pristine thing, I am now naught but a wrinkled, faded visage of my former self.

  I have been told it is part of growing older.  Things get less meaningful.  Life moves more slowly.  Passion and drive slowly devolve into apathy and self-absorption.

  The bed holds me down, begging me not to start my day.  The cold air bites at me and insults me for venturing out.  My hobbies nag me and whine constantly, asking why I don't seem to care for them anymore.  I often imagine myself held up in my mind curled in a ball in the dead grass by a small, moonlit pool in the middle of Autumn pleading with my consciousness to let me rest.  Must there always be something I have to be doing?

  I enjoy this strange feeling, deep within my body.  It is the feeling of a stomach constantly hungry.  I like the biting jostle of the emptiness.  I like the tightness in my chest.  I like the ability to change my physical being in a noticeable way.  It makes me feel powerful and strong.  Healthy dieting is empowering.

  It is strange slogging through the jungle that is my thought processes.  I find so many little treasures, only to have them slip from my pockets moments later.  The result is that when I finally find a time to sit and rest by a waterfall I discover that my pockets are empty and I am left with only the fleeting memory of what I found along my way.

  I am afraid of so many things right now.  Feelings of inadequacy conquer me over and over.  I hate the word "declined" and the phrase "someone else more qualified" as they seem to imply that regardless of how hard I try, I am continually less qualified than everyone else and am therefore going to be declined my hopes and dreams until the day I die.  How can I continue to dream big when even dreaming small seems too extravagant?

  I think I will return to my place, softly crying out inside my mind by that moonlit pool.  I think it is time to rest.

  • 4:33 pm
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