My words are being read. Not by many, but some. So how truthful will I be in what I say?
This life is surreal. My new favorite word lately, surreal, because that is how life feels lately. It is so unfamiliar. This isn’t a bad thing, I just have no idea how to navigate this alien landscape that is my life. I suppose I have the tools to figure it out and get wherever I’m supposed to go in this life, in fact I know I do. But it still scares the crap out of me. And right at the moment I wonder how much of my anxiety is the result of staying awake too long, how much is the result of doing things I’m not sure of, how much is just normal considering the newness of all of my life. Maybe my friend Mark is right; maybe I took on too many new things at once. But I like change. I wanted change. I guess I got it and now I have to figure out what to do with it.
Word press. Pressing words. Pressing in the sense of print media. But for me it is more like words pressing the inside of my brain begging to escape, words that don’t have any meaning for anyone except me. What is that? What is that need to tap into that energy line and disappear into the void for a while and let the words out?
I guess the words are in jail if I don’t express them. They are prisoners held captive by no will of their own, so if I don’t let some of them free, there will be a coup and I will be in trouble. Actually, trouble has been brewing for years because I have not let them out when they needed to escape, just to breathe for a while. And I paid for it. Big time.