I don’t know where I am. Forgive me if this lapses into bourgeoisie existentialism, but I feel a bit marooned right now. There’s been no great crisis happening in my life, this isn’t a cataclysmic event that’s holding my head under the river of despair. If it was, I’d know where I was. I’m not there. Perhaps this feeling or limbo state has to do with the fact that there isn’t a great crisis happening in my life. Things are stable, comfortable. Still, something’s off. I feel lost while cushioned with safe surroundings. There’s tangible physical evidence of my position, but safe harbour still leaves me wanting for direction and purpose. I see signs of life and time all around me. Growth blossoms while leaves fall brown and brittle to rest on the earth.
Forget it, I’m not poetic enough a writer to wear such blatant melancholy. It feels loose and untethered, my form can’t hold it with any solemnity. I feel like a boy in his father’s coat, tails dragging across the ground. To put it in my own characteristic verbose bluntness, I’m in a strange place and I don’t know what that lingering smell is. Things have been happening around me that’ve brought questions to my mind, but little in the way of answers. Geez, that makes it sound like this stuff revolves around me, it doesn’t. Things happen without me and for some reason my view feels better if I feel like they have anything much to do with me. Things are fine, they’ve worked out without my help or input, and that’s fantastic. There’s this odd thing that happens when so much of your life is half a world away. The memories you always thought you’d have instead become these vague scenes your subconsciousness creates having seen photos after the fact. If you’re imbued with whatever brand of narcissism that I am, you’ll look for ways to place yourself there, as if it wasn’t important if it wasn’t somehow about you.
So what ifs arise like koans. Hypothetical but ultimately meaningless beyond forcing you to question yourself. Should I be there? How would it change things? Do they need this? Do I? Would I could I with a fox? You hear something and your mind responds, then you question how those thoughts emerged. Potential bad news arises and before the sentence is finished you’re half way through a eulogy. Prepping for the worst before knowing anything substantive. Thinking about how things will play out, damage control for a myriad of situations. Questioning why things may work out in ways you don’t want is pointless when you’re drifting without aim. Swagger and confidence are all too helpful in convincing others you have any idea, occasionally you even fool yourself. Have you ever given an extended monologue to inspire hope, with no idea where it came from? Peeling back the layers you realise you just repackaged people’s words and served them pack with a nice ribbon. No wonder they liked the way it sounded. Fear and assurance intertwined when thinking about the future. Things will be fine, but who will I be? Was I better? Am I better? Or am I always just me in whatever form that takes? A notion that everything’s fucked when nothing’s going wrong. Where does that come from? Am I afraid of true happiness or afraid that only Sith deal in absolutes? Fooling myself into thinking that finding small pockets and taking them as whole is enough to compensate for ever-present intrusive thought? Everything’s transient. Is that terrifying or comforting? Por que no los dos?
Maybe I’m just hungry.