Making a human should have been enough. As if this possession of the body and mind I once knew doesn't have enough power to throw me into an altered loop and leave me on my heavily weighted hands and knees.
Leaving New York should have been enough. Despite my continuous cursing and whimpering spelled out on the blog, it was the only place I have instantly felt at home and in sync. I miss it. And I walk the familiar streets in my head with a longing of thankfulness and second thoughts.
Quitting my job should have been enough. While I may have stumbled into Shangri La for housewives, I feel useless. For the first time in my adult life, I can't affiliate my character with my daily agenda. A misnomer I admit, but the lack of production and a replenishing bank account is demoralizing, no matter what psychological color you paint it.
I haven't stopped thinking. I've ceased thinking provocatively. My daily musings are kept in check by lack of inspiration and make their way onto a page only when provoked by anger. Anger towards a world that often unfolds the opposite way I'm working.
This resistance makes me restless. And subsequently a recluse.
I'm all for quenching wanderlust, but my knapsack is the heaviest it's ever been and I'm looking to lighten my load.
Is it doubt or change that's the heaviest burden in life?
All my frozen words agree and say it's time to all back all the birds I sent to
Fly behind her castle walls, and I'm weary of the nights I've seen
Inside these empty walls.
Fly behind her castle walls, and I'm weary of the nights I've seen
Inside these empty walls.
~Birds of St. Marks
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