waking moments
still stuck in dreams
trying to keep track of
what is reality
and what might not be
and what makes sense to me
is that there is not any one solid answer
it’s all just chemical reactions and brain synapses
trying to make sense of a world that just
doesn’t
i want something new
something more
than what i have now
or what i had before
but i don’t know in what way
i just know there’s no way
i can do this day-to-day
without at least a teensy bit of
variety
~~~
man, my writing is just
not slapping like it
usually does
this morning
we all have off days
in every aspect of our lives
but why can’t i just decide
when my off days will collide with me?
[that wouldn’t bring nearly as much
self-education as i need…]
~~~
or is it not an off day
for the talent itself?
is it
instead
a perception problem?
is everything i read today
going to suffer from the
stale breadcrumbs of
‘this all sounds exactly the same’?
and
‘nothing brings me joy like it once did’?
and the other melodies of deep dark december
?
i don’t understand
how to be a person
interacting with other people.
i kind of understand
how to be a person
interacting with one other person,
and i kind of understand
how to be a me
interacting with only myself;
but multiple others???
i either am too loud
or too quiet
or too uncomfortable to do anything else—
so…what does that mean?
does that make me less of a person?
or more?
does it make me an introvert?
does it make me socially anxious?
or simply anxious all the time?
is my perception of myself based on how little others can perceive me?
or is it something else entirely?
or are these all questions
that only i can answer
for myself/
accurately
?
once again
my frantic creativity
is failing me
this morning page time
and i know i have things i wanted to write about
and i know i have things i needed to write about
and i know i have things i could be writing about
but the sky feels grey, not blue
and the world seems tipped slightly askew
and i can’t conceive of how long this off-ness will last
(nor if it’s truly a case of of perception,
or if it could simply be a time of transition
asleep to awake
un-caffeinated to caffeinated
cat-lap-less to cat-lap-full
[and let me tell you, those claws in my legs sure helped me wake a little more])
so i suppose i’ll keep writing.
hoping things start making more sense,
hoping the coffee soaks its way to my veins,
pet this cat until my fingers find more words to write
(and forgive her when her affectionate head bumps a few letters out of place)
because this is my life;
i made it.
mine.
kipventures 