I've never been on a mud slide. I've also never sat on a fountain. When I was young, I didn't have access to a green space. It was just my grandmother's house, and the occasional times I opened the door as a kid and walked out only to be escorted back home by the baker down the road. I don't know where I was going, even back then I had the urge to leave, run, escape.
Open the door and just go.
But where do I go?
Growing up makes you forget a lot of things, like how to make friends or how to get out of bed. There's a mud slide in my soul and my heart can't stop going on it, sliding down to my stomach and back up again. This weird pain, that traveling pain. What is that? Is it a bug? Is it a lovebug? It's cuffing season after all. I'm not into anyone though, and no one is into me.
Life is an expanse of endless vacuum that rides along space and time.
The dogs left. No one fed them, and I didn't feed them enough. I hadn't seen them in a few months when I noticed the howling I'd come to depend on was no longer there. I miss them most during the night, when that thing in my chest starts beating at me to do something, anything!
Sometimes, it really does feel like my heart is beating out of my chest, or that it's trying to leave my chest in any case. I bet it has nowhere to go either. It's mine after all, how could it want something that I don't know about?
But it does. It does want something and I have no idea what that thing is. I've been out of a job for nearly a year now and that kind of space leaves room for unidentified objects to fester. It's not for lack of looking too. Lack of luck, though, yes, I believe. I've never been lucky. It runs in the family.
I don't want to sit here and lick my wounds. It's been ages since I logged on to write, but it's all the words that are swirling in my head right about now. I'm just dumping them here to see what forms. Maybe I can make sense of it regurgitated.
It's been rough, but I've been finding ways to make things beautiful, like I always do. It's something inside me, a generator, maybe that's what's whirring off tune. I'm listening to this LoFi Harry Potter mix and it's making me feel like Christmas. It's not even Halloween yet. Not that either matter without company, or do they?
Company.
Company.
I don't enjoy most of the company I get these days, and it's few and far in between. I guess the word for it is loneliness. I've been lonely lately, but people aren't filling it. Not enough conversation, not enough stimulation. I had a crowd a long time ago but they're all gone to their own places in the world, tangible and ethereal.
Making friends when you're 30 is like waiting to fall in a ditch, only it's the 21st century and there aren't any of those anymore. I'm pretty sure I'm getting the worst of it because it's in my mind. If I was one of those "age is just a number" crowds I wouldn't be suffering as much. Or maybe everyone is suffering and no one is saying out loud. People tend to do that in large numbers and it's just a terrible idea. They also tend to do the opposite in large numbers and it's an equally terrible idea. There's no way out, really.
I'm having a bit of slump, just in case that wasn't clear by now. I feel discouraged most of the time, it feels like everything is so predictable. I was on a yacht with some friends last week and there were so many people I could talk to, but instead I chose to sit there and watch the water. It felt like the more dependable thing to do. The water is a memory I can look back on. The conversations, not so much. A few years of friendship and then it's gone, and I'm left here starting over and over and over again.
It's Groundhog's day, every day is more of the same.
I'll pick this up another time when I have brighter metaphors in me. So long, internet.
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