I have been devoid of written words as of late. It isn’t that I don’t have anything to say, or that I am not pissed off, or riled up, or feisty about anything. Sadly I haven’t traveled by plane in over two months time, so I cannot reflect on air travel, a topic that always gets me going – the barbaric ways in which civilized humans are forced to interact. It is true that today, I am writing just to write, because not having done so lately has chipped away at what little a soul I have left. The fact of the matter is I can’t concentrate on anything, except trying to get up in the morning, and trying to make it through the day, and trying not to be like I used to be. If I were still in Hermosa Beach, I would have no doubt already had an altercation of sorts with Hermosa Moses whilst padding down to Martha’s for brunch. I would have cursed at a few recumbent bikers, and perhaps hopped in my car to speed over to Redondo for a much needed Jesus Van sighting. Even if it was just to creep around the Captain and his van. But I am no longer living in that place, physically or mentally so I have to manufacture something to expound on. It is Sunday, it is technically a day off, but a day off of what? My brain certainly hasn’t stopped churning this afternoon to provide any sort of peace or rest. I didn’t drink enough last night to slow the wheels of chaos. It is just a day, like any other day, or is it?
Each day, I suppose, can be a new opportunity to start fresh, to think differently or to try something new. Instead sometimes it feels like each day is a new way to torture yourself with old recycled information from all your previous days. With the former being so appealing, why is it that the latter is a more realistic outcome? Is there anyone out there that truly seizes each day as if it were their last? What does it mean to seize the day? To take it and perchance make it your bitch? There are certainly great moments, but great days? I find the days tend to get away from me, mired in a mix of obligation, terror and escape. A constant cycle of acting and reacting to pre-existing mores, and situations which come about randomly. Lately I have been incapable of deep thought for to do so would require me to fly the plane and take it off auto pilot, and taking it off auto pilot right now is far too risky an endeavor. Too much rough terrain.
So instead the thoughts stir, the patterns long ago set remain solid and the fear creeps in that nothing will ever be normal again. By normal I suppose I mean self indulgent and unencumbered - for once you begin a process you cannot abandon it midstream just when it gets difficult. If that process is to disassociate with tired thought patterns and unusable ways of thinking, then perhaps these last few weeks are merely a hiccup in the big picture, and not a Charles Osbourne inspired lifetime. A hiccup is defined as an abrupt rush of air into the lungs causing the vocal chords to close creating a ‘hic’ sound. With all these things rushing at you is it only naturally to shut down, as the vocal chords to when confronted with something abrupt? Which is more annoying, hiccups or the spins? The agitated and abrupt shock of air, or the constant swirling of the right and left brain monologue. I am not sure, nor am I comfortable with either. Sooner or later one will win out I suppose. Just not today.
