St. Philip’s Day

I’ve been trying to write a minimum of 500 words a day. Can’t complain that it’s been difficult, but I will admit that when sitting down to write, I haven’t really known where I’ll end up. I suppose this is okay, that I shouldn’t judge myself for wandering without a map or directions. Allowing things to become organically is a positive thing. It means I’m not trying to control the flow of words and images, that they are arising naturally from my subconscious.I tend to think that this will take me to places that I’d otherwise not venture on my own.
I’m going to simply begin where I am. It’s overcast and humid today, the kind of afternoon where you have to have lights on in the house in order to read. Most of the morning, I’ve been listening to music and remembering other times. I’ve also been worrying a bit about starting this new job next week. I wonder who I will meet in this new position, I wonder what kind of experiences I’m about to have, what challenges will present themselves to me. I’m curious and a little anxious, fearful of whether or not I will be able to rise to the occasion and do what needs to be done. When you struggle to understand what your strengths are and what you might be capable of accomplishing, you’re naturally a little nervous. I wish I had some kind of certification—some documents that told me what I have achieved and what I am able to do going forward. Like a tattoo inside my wrist that I could look at to know what I can count on. Like checking your wallet to see you have two fives, two tens, and a twenty, and knowing that despite the cover charge, you’ll still have money left for beer. There aren’t such guarantees in life. You go in hoping you have enough and if not, you’ll be able to find an ATM to withdraw more.
Thinking about this stuff doesn’t help me much to remain present and live in the moment. This means I look up at the clock, shocked that it’s already past noon and my bathroom still isn’t clean, the trash hasn’t taken itself out, and my hair still needs to be washed. There’s a post office run and prescriptions to be picked up. Cigarettes to be smoked, coffee to be sipped and some semblance of a life to be lived. There’s positive thoughts to be affirmed, negative to be discarded, the constant reshuffling and redealing of my brain’s hand. Passing ache of loss and the sigh of being alive, as I tell myself that it’s worth it, keep going, all will be well, despite flashbacks and weird head trips and bad dreams. I’ve got to find reasons every day to keep going, nothing is assumed and at this stage, nothing is taken for granted.
So close. Keep going. Don’t stop. It’s worth it. Even if you don’t know what’s coming or when it will come, it’s thrilling to have another chance. I’m relieved I survived another dark winter without going David Foster Wallace. We’re all living the tedious ordinary moments of our lives to get to the passing, transitory victories.


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