A Camp Chair at a Crossroads

My life has become this. The stories have all been told & now just seem repetitive. The news is a comic strip I don’t understand anymore – in an era of bright discovery & what should be burgeoning growth into Where We Go, Boldly, we’re stuck in The Way We Were. I’m so tired & unresponsive to war & abandonment. I have simpler needs & wants now. I have lots of undefining to do.

Where are you in your world? Are your decisions valid & moving you forward, or are you stuck in the past life (half-life) of the before you were as you are now? How do you even answer that question? I can do it a bit for myself, but it’s like dabbling in discovery by putting in my big toe & expecting that to define an entire universe. It works in the way lightning does – one laser strike at a time.

I spend a great deal of time being Carol. I’m no longer sure why except I cannot seem to escape it. Habit? Definition? Commitment? Not sure how I’m supposed to find out, even. But the time for a change is approaching once more, a time for revisiting to reinvest in another future different from where I was before.

Florida is too flat to hold interest much longer. The job I have is climbing a ladder with missing rungs – I have no ambition & noplace to go if I had any. I’m too uninterested in career any longer to assume much along those lines. The new hovers like a bubble held on the little plastic wand. It no sooner gets formed than it is wafted off, or bursts in a sparkle of soapy promises. What can I hold onto?

I’m not depressed: I’m suspended. I feel as tho my feet have run me off the edge of the world & there’s nothing but space. Being 3D still, this is a bit cool & a lot uncomfortable. The 3D part needs to get out there with the rest of me & do something.

But for my generation, there’s little do do. We made it (or not) to the moon. We loved (& saw assassination of that love.) We made errors of judgment still echoing from the bench with the last bang of the gavel. What could possibly be next?

Welll that’s easy to answer. If all I’ve ever known is the possible, why not go for the impossible? Change up the routine? Find a different drummer to move to the beat of?

I guess it’s time to drag out all the old habits into the sun & beat them with brooms, dislodge the dust & find some sparkle again. How & where & why come first.

The comb-over’s not working. Time to shave my head.