Things go in certain ways, at times, and the difficulty comes not in the way they go or where they take you, but in the fact that once you’re there, where you’ve been most often becomes unrecognizable, and all the new places you have to go hide mysteriously behind the veils of your own closed eyelids.

Perspective is a bitch, like that.

I don’t know if I’m midlife-crisis-ing or what, but my perspective has been shifting all over the place, lately. In some ways, I feel the best I’ve ever felt (mentally, emotionally, and I’m getting there physically again), but in other ways, it’s almost as if everything I do is ultimately pointless. And ultimately, I just get mad at myself for feeling sorry for myself.

But unholy fuckity-fuck, I need to get out of this place. The waiting for it bleeds.

I know, I’ve said that before. I’ll have to dig up that old poem; I’m definitely in that mode of late, and it’s related somewhat to this post.

But this waiting, this stasis, the waiting for it to lift or be lifted bleeds like water flows, and I am somehow at the head and foot of it all.

Which, incidentally, means it’s nothing new.

Go figure.