Stuck, oh and what a place to be.

Truro, MA

Despite a quick dip in the ocean yesterday (May 15th), it is still quite obviously Spring, not Summer like I was pretending. 

Here's a little bit of something from the winter.  Perhaps too autobiographical, but what isn't in reality?  It's just a matter of how far you bury it, or let it breathe.  

Notes on a day.

I wear my hat inside.  Heat is too expensive and there are so many windows, the ocean breeze is more of a whipping chill in winter, coming in through unknown cracks and crevices. 

I find any reason to avoid doing what I’m here for.  I look for activities and friends, I even clean fairly often. 

I think about my body a lot, probably because I am so sedentary, even though I walk miles everyday. 

In the face of successful people I feel weak and unaccomplished.  On the other side of things, around old friends and family I sometimes feel too self-important.  As though I have done more than them and somehow this makes me a better person.  It does not. I am not. What is accomplishment anyhow?  Flitting about, keeping oneself busy?  I need to do what is right for me, not just compare myself to others, put myself down or rise myself up depending on what others are doing.  None of this matters.  It just plain doesn’t matter.

Yesterday was rather a waste, due to getting hopelessly drunk the night before. 

One always self-deprecates after being hungover.  I think it’s the natural state to be ashamed of oneself in this situation. 

I sleep far too much these days.  Take of this what you will.  Eight, Ten hours a night, perhaps an afternoon nap just to round things out.  

I need to stay positive or getting anything done will be an impossibility.  Of course staying positive, implies one is positive, or at least has been.  Ahh.  Yes.  

The ambition to write is what? Is what?  Is it worth it?

Is what worth it?

My neck is stuck per usual.  

Today as if to reflect back upon this fairly typical winter's, err... reflection, my neck is stuck, unmoving, filled with pain.  I've a mountain of work to do.  Things that in reality, I want to do, to get done, to feel good about having done.  

Yet- Stuck- is really the way it is.  

Un-moving...afraid of going forward of actually "accomplishing" what I've set out to do.  It's all too scary I suppose, the unknown, for each of us.  For me it's a little bit like, being crushed by my own potential.  Or at times, ignoring that potential completely and distracting myself with other less significant occurrences that are fleeting at best.   

This is not original.  This is not interesting.  Nor special.  

 

It just is.  The state of things as it were, as it is, as it hopefully will not be, although...likely will be. 

Sanibell Island, Florida

So today, on this grey, gray day.  I once again wonder, hope, that if I were to go somewhere where the days are not often gray, then perhaps my mood might not be quite so grey itself.  Yet somehow I wonder if that's true at all.  

How one feels washed out from too much sunshine, a day at the beach, tired and happy but with little thought.  Just kind of blasted from the suns rays, a satisfied body from moving through the water, gravity isn't so much a concern, more like being back in the womb cradled in embryonic fluid.  Contented, untroubled, no words, no needs, no hopes besides a burger and a beer and a laugh or two.  So easy to ignore the rest of the world...happy...blissed out.  

But somehow just a little too unreal.  On the corner of your mind, the reality that there is war, strife, hunger and depression looming over a discontented and continuously troubled world.  

The indulgence of happiness.  Sometimes just seems a little bit wrong, but perhaps that's just a lifetime of New England winters talking.  

Yeah...stuck. 

Hyannis, MA