One day, I'm going to figure this life thing out. That's unless I were to die in a terrible, tragic bus accident tomorrow. Then, of course, I never would. But hopefully the chances of that are slim, leaving me with the possibility of figuring this whole life thing out.
Because God knows I don't have the foggiest idea what it's about right now.
Terrible, tragic buss accidents notwithstanding.
Thirty years into this bizarre thing we call life, and still no greater an idea of what it's about than what I had when I was 16.
No, not entirely true. I think I have a greater idea, actually. But the amount I've managed to uncover since I was 16 is so small, so utterly meaningless, I really don't feel as if anything's changed in the last 14 years.
According to CP style, you print digits for numbers of 10 and over, and spell out anything less. Like the number two.
Anyway.
Anyway...
I'm looking for something -- have been for years -- without having any idea what it is I'm looking for. I noticed the other day that I feel disconnected from the world, like I'm a few seconds out of sync with everything else, like there's a layer of Saran Wrap between me and the rest of existence.
It's weird, troubling, because it hasn't always been like this. I can remember a time, in high school, when I felt more connected to the world. When I could look at the sky and feel like I was really looking at the sky; when I could lay in the grass and really fell the grass pressing against my flesh.
Is this a part of growing old, or is this something unique to me, some kind of personal madness?
I'm not happy. Right at the moment, I'm not terribly sad either, but at the same time that's not good enough -- to define yourself based on what you aren't. I have moments of happiness. Sparks of joy. But they are fleeting.
More about that another day. Tommorow is story time.
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