(no subject)
Tomorrow will be the thirteenth day in a row that I've worked, some days two jobs. Ripped something in the left calf or maybe just badly bruised, hard to tell, but I just keep riding on and on, possessed.
I don't want to be one of those people who talks big, who had all those ideas, who thought it all out and planned and lined it up and said all the right things in anticipation only to have nothing happen. I would rather not say anything at all and just keep doing. It's funny how nothing ever, ever seems to turn out like I think it will even if most of the time that's a great thing. It's very rare when it does and even then the specific elements are all out of whack, completely foreign or just plain weird. I've stopped trying to micro manage anything, especially the things I have emotions invested in. I'm still working toward a positive but I'm needing less and less to know exactly what is coming around the corner. Moving with it, not fighting the current.
Somewhere inside the electricity is firing. A crazy static buzz, manic soaked pulsing thoughts, not so much coherent as present. More concrete. Now when he doesn't call I take that anger and push it through myself and return it to it's intended medium- velocity. I stand firm by my earlier statement. My bike is absolutely my one true love.
I wear myself out to find the quiet.
I don't want to be one of those people who talks big, who had all those ideas, who thought it all out and planned and lined it up and said all the right things in anticipation only to have nothing happen. I would rather not say anything at all and just keep doing. It's funny how nothing ever, ever seems to turn out like I think it will even if most of the time that's a great thing. It's very rare when it does and even then the specific elements are all out of whack, completely foreign or just plain weird. I've stopped trying to micro manage anything, especially the things I have emotions invested in. I'm still working toward a positive but I'm needing less and less to know exactly what is coming around the corner. Moving with it, not fighting the current.
Somewhere inside the electricity is firing. A crazy static buzz, manic soaked pulsing thoughts, not so much coherent as present. More concrete. Now when he doesn't call I take that anger and push it through myself and return it to it's intended medium- velocity. I stand firm by my earlier statement. My bike is absolutely my one true love.
I wear myself out to find the quiet.