The weight of the weather hangs heavy on my shoulders and I look to the past, the future, the place in between; always so uncomfortable, in the here and now. Sick of reading about how life is what you make it. Too many inspirational messages have become cliché by the powers of Facebook and trend-of-the-minute social media outlets. Checking in to check out. Spreading the love/hate.
Tell me one more time everything will be alright, one door closes another one opens, or my personal favorite, “everything happens for a reason”, and I’m likely to try and take my own eye out with a pencil. Only the blind survive this mass media world, spared the harsh imagery and tactical planning of the mysterious “they”.
The curve comes up on me like a crashing tidal wave and I slip, spilling my coffee on freshly pressed pleated pants. Cursing under my breath for keeping two wardrobes. For selling out. For being anything less than me. In a past life I’d be happy my old battered wreck of a ride was still intact. Today I look at my Porsche and curse it for its smooth handling. For allowing myself to daydream. Where was I before all of this?