even my bones feel like I'm still walkin when I sit still
I'm dead tired in the body yet awake mentally after sixteen hours of waiting tables in that inevitable march toward the sufficient support of the rent check standard. My back hurts from running around the restaurant, from stooping to serve, from remebering to stand up straight with shoulders back and work those long gone soft muscles of poor posture's disintegration of what I feel I am versus what I present myself to be. I find myself stooping, taking on the burden of Murphy's, as though every grain of coffee brewed and tuna nicoise salad plated were a personal reflection on my abilities. It's strange, considering I care so little about the job, hate waiting tables and eagerly look forward to the day when I meet the food service industry from the other side of the table permanently. It's inherent to the word "server". You run around taking orders and slinging fodder and pretty soon you start to feel like a servant. You act when others tell you. Even your creative thoughts are geared toward awaiting the next order. It can be a Zen activity when you lose yourself in it, when you cease to think and instead act as the tendril of a many-armed octopus. I have to be there at 7:00 am again tomorrow morning and this idea bouys me against the landslide of brunch madness.
I bought myself a computer again, a used HP I picked up for a song. I am a little shocked but not dismayed at how much better equipped I feel in this world having such a tool at my disposal. I don't suppose I need to wax much further than this to a forum of online journaler such as yourselves, my esteemed readers, because you know this already, but o how true it is. It's living at Elizabeth's until I get cable internet at my apartment.
Phone calls to make. I have phone calls to make. I need to get back in touch with friends. I need to write here more and get back in touch with all of you people, whose comments I think up elaborate responses for and never type out. Now that I have my own machine again there's no excuse. I've been so many shades of conflicted over the past months that I've actively avoided exploration, instead just trying to get a bearing on the location of my feet on the ground and live it all a day at a time. Some days I feel like I'm just free floating, completely disconnected, that freedom and terror of untethered life only a breath away. Some days I feel full and grounded like a tree. I don't know which feeling will arise next.
Truth is, this is me. I am who I am and no amount of ignoring that will change a thing. I love who I'm becoming and I miss parts of who I once was. I see parts shedding right next to me and I miss them as they fall to the ground.
It's looking like winter in Georgia. A cold is setting in. I can see my breath melt the beginnings of frost on the windows of my car.
I bought myself a computer again, a used HP I picked up for a song. I am a little shocked but not dismayed at how much better equipped I feel in this world having such a tool at my disposal. I don't suppose I need to wax much further than this to a forum of online journaler such as yourselves, my esteemed readers, because you know this already, but o how true it is. It's living at Elizabeth's until I get cable internet at my apartment.
Phone calls to make. I have phone calls to make. I need to get back in touch with friends. I need to write here more and get back in touch with all of you people, whose comments I think up elaborate responses for and never type out. Now that I have my own machine again there's no excuse. I've been so many shades of conflicted over the past months that I've actively avoided exploration, instead just trying to get a bearing on the location of my feet on the ground and live it all a day at a time. Some days I feel like I'm just free floating, completely disconnected, that freedom and terror of untethered life only a breath away. Some days I feel full and grounded like a tree. I don't know which feeling will arise next.
Truth is, this is me. I am who I am and no amount of ignoring that will change a thing. I love who I'm becoming and I miss parts of who I once was. I see parts shedding right next to me and I miss them as they fall to the ground.
It's looking like winter in Georgia. A cold is setting in. I can see my breath melt the beginnings of frost on the windows of my car.