Day 161

My tragic superhero origin story shall some day play out like this:
In attempts to understand his tax return, a mild mannered man child opens his mind so far that the top of his head swings open like barnyard door!
The impossibility of such an event summons a portal to otherworldly realms, which bursts forth and consumes the head of the grown child who thought he could act the adult!
The bespectacled bearded head with receding hairline and throbbing headache is gone! In it's place floats, just above the man-baby's broad shoulders: a nebulous void to realities unknown!
Criminals beware, for you're about to stare into: THE VOID!


I still won't understand my tax return.
But at least then I too will be impossible...

Day 160

She walked like there was music playing, which only she could hear.
An outsider might see her and describe the rhythmic strut as hypnotic, freeing, brazen, bold, entrancing, enhancing, romancing, worth a second-third-glancing, leading, feeding, relieving, waving, saving, rejuvenating, hopping, stopping, jaw-dropping, hip pops left twice before bobbing right, step patter patter ball change up over over over onward march! ...
Or maybe they wouldn't take notice. What do I know - I've only been starring for what feels like an eternity desperate to know what that the song might be ...
The music you live to.
What does that sound like?

Day 159

One can become very comfortable with ghosts coming in and out of their lives.
No more exciting than the appearance of a squirrel or a bird when sitting in a park.
Before the supernatural become commonplace, however, there is one very important step:
acknowledge their existence.
Until then, they are shadows on the wall. Flickers in the dark, causing a chill up the spine. Or a rake across your skin. The mind will fill in the blanks, creating monstrous things. Where only echoes of the dead are to be found.
But then, some people like the feeling.
Some cherish the fear.
But oh, there is still so much more to be afraid of ...

Day 158

As time goes on, and I become more honest with myself, my fears can be summed up by a sad game of hide and seek.
Hiding.
Successfully eluding discovery.
The game is abandoned, without my being told.
Not ended, mind you, abandoned.
So I simply hide from everyone forever.
Engaged in a game that no one else is playing . . .
I wish this fate for no one.

Day 157

And so where did our pilgrim finally find a moments release.

Not at the monastery for which they'd traveled all this way to visit. Not while on a plane; defying gravity and the natural order, while watching a movie over a rum and coke.

Not even while watching playlist after playlist of those motivational videos with the emotionally manipulative musical backing.

No.

Of all places, it was the motel bathroom.

An unremarkable room - plentiful in neither unpleasantness nor in charm, so as to allow one to let their guard down and draw a hot bath, because they're not paying for hydro after all. In a tiny room attached to a mid sized room, completely void of clutter.

No dishes to be done after the takeout meal - or delivery if submission to vacation gluttony is complete - is consumed.

No clothes to wash. No trash to be ignored.

No recycling to be forgotten.

Zero compost to regret leaving too long.

Naught to do, but occupy an unremarkable space, until checkout.

Maybe blow bubbles. Maybe not.

Naught to do, but to be.

Here, in a bathroom monastery, our pilgrim finds a moment of freedom . . .

Day 156

The lie you live by:
the harm you do to yourself, whether intended or not, is in someway for the benefit of others.
You made a martyr of your mistakes and built monuments out of the fallout.
Cleaning up isn't the same as forgetting.
Carry on.
Move on.
Move.

Day 155

And as she lie there on the pavement, watching the light fade from her world, our victim of cruel circumstance dad the following thought:
Why did I bother buying groceries if I'm not going to get to eat them this is what I get for not biking not driving not learning to drive but who needs to drive in the city it's more trouble than it's I really wasn't over my ex but right now I actually am and I hope I get through this so I can move with my dating life and having some guilt free sex I hope these aren't my last thoughts I hope my last thoughts are poignant but then no one will know my last thoughts are poignant so I hope my last thoughts can be poignant and somehow heard by someone in the world so someone knows how poignant I was in the end if this is the end fuck is this the end quick what's the last thing I said to everyone in my life when did I last talk to Mom when did I last talk to Grandpa is Grandpa really going to outlive me I should've written a letter to each of them I should have written more letters in general if I get out of this I'm writing everyone a letter every week or month or at least once a year I can do once a year like on their birthday I guess that's what birthday cards already are letters with pictures OK if I survive this I'll buy everyone birthday cards and ACTUALLY mail them on time for their birthday OK deal deal deal who am I making a deal with why am I making a deal I can't make a deal this isn't a transaction it's my life which I guess says a lot if I'm trying to treat it like a deal my life reduced to a metaphor I'm making my life into a metaphor why am I trying to make life a metaphor why am I trying to make sense of this this happens everyday and today is my day and I've been heading towards this my entire life and I don't wan that life to be summed up into me dying on the pavement trying to come up with some cliche inner narrative to lead me into a credit scroll that will never come because this isn't a movie of the final episode of a binge worthy show cut too short because the network and the audience couldn't see the potential of such a good thing and now it's gone to soon and everyone will want it to come back but it won't because this is my LIFE!!!!!
...
...
... I really hope someone eats those groceries ...
I hope I make it
...
Can I call my mom?