Tuesday, December 4, 2012

so it goes.



There's a hole in the net. Trapeze bar is dangling and the chains talk together when they swing swing swing.

I had these plans and the plans fell through and after some crying and hitting a closed fist on my thigh in frustration I slept. And after sleeping I woke up the next day with swollen eyelids and I resolved to figure it out.

I'm figuring it out.

You know the saying: when it rains, it pours. Sometimes when it pours the drains overflow and leaves/garbage/unidentified masses of debris rise up and out--they go drifting whichever way the ground slopes. When the pouring stops the moving halts and you're left with things scattered and lumped. For a smoother ride you pick your way through. Or you bump over the bullshit and move on.

I'm dodging some, crushing others. Moving on.

I was preparing to move back home at the end of January. I even grabbed a second job for some extra cash. I accumulated boxes and, perhaps most important, I started gently separating my tentacles from this wonderful city. And then the floor fell in and I find that I'm here for another 6 months. All ready for my next chapter and it feels like I have to re-read the last half of this one. It is a bittersweet development.

Then a friend gets hit with some heavy, heavy shit and my heart rips off the linted up pieces of tape and chunks of it hit the ground like a chorus of tuning forks. Hum-tinging-hum. Life/tragedy/victory/new/yellowing/change it never stops. It doesn't wait for you or for me. Forget capacity of lung or how much a pair of arms can carry. It is simply sometimes too much.

In this moment I want to know what's next but I can already feel my hands shape around that inquiry's emptiness. It is not a decision to wait for. I drive my car. I write my words. I use the stove and go to work and hate falling asleep alone. I keep going, moving deliberate so the bees stay calm, so the hives on my shoulders aren't destroyed. Though sometimes I run as fast as I can just for the wind in my face, for the loss of my breath, for the repetitive sting and relief that comes with leaving prior burdens behind.

None of this was planned. But everthing is alright.

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