Unravelling
It had something to do with laughing; its ben so long that I forget and the myelin sheaths have deteriorated to the point that the journey is farther than I care to venture. Straight lines had never been a habit of mine. So used to skipping rocks through the challenges I face that now, in the lee of the stone, bred of confusion and midlife crisis creeping up on my fragile youth, I feel safe and rest -- maybe indefinitely. I have not put a pen to paper in months.
Its been so long since my erector pili has responded on its own. I drench myself in the mundane and surround myself in a blanket of fog. I've been trying to climb out of this grave I have been lying in. Six feet is a long way to scramble and my brain is so scrambled I have trouble carrying out simple tasks. My sentences run on for days.
I find that communication and correspondence are lost arts. I write love letters to all of my friends and befriend people whose beds I can share. I'm a self-loathing, slow moving sloth of a woman.
My shell breaks and I peek out. This world so new, I am scared and lost. No one provided me with the map that seems quintessential to existence right now. If peeking out is as far as I can go right now, then I may have to force myself to explode. I can't think of a more efficient way to find myself in everything everywhere. One day I will remember that what I am doing now is not disconnected from the journey, but part of it. I am cheek-to-cheek and I can barely feel it. My plan of action is just to breathe.
I find I am most surprised by how simple it is to open closed doors.
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