The risk I always run when doing this to myself is making time pass by so quickly and so ineffectively that I forget to do the things that actually serve a purpose.
Lost in schedules that would break me if I would care, throwing myself completely into problems that neither have solutions nor are, at their core, any real fucking concern of mine, I spend so much time not thinking so as not to find myself filled with pure wrath at the stupidity of it all and instead find myself watching my time, my seconds, my minutes, my hours, my twenties, and now my thirties start to slip away from me.
And then I go back to the little one this weekend, little ETC, little man, little thinker, staring at the world and observing it, talking rather than shouting or crying, making the most of language even as he knows none that can be shared, the purity of his observation and emotion making even the simplest action seem stupid and needlessly complex in its triviality. Watching Jesse and his wife with their son–Jesse’s son, my friend, lost to time and the world and a religion I cannot bring myself to embrace ever again, yet now back simply because we choose to accept each other in that way that people who have known each other forever and whose journey is more parallel than perhaps our own dogma would allow us to believe, Jesse is a father now–there is that natural want, that natural feel that, in some ways, it is definitely my time to find my way, and maybe it’s through the love of whatever–my students, my family, some person I have met or maybe someone I have yet to meet, my music, my need to escape–or maybe it’s just by being there, watching people better than I make children better than I.
I don’t mind being alone so much. I don’t even mind feeling alone right now. My isolation serves its purpose–allowing me to rest and minimizing the instances in which my simply-not-giving-a-fuck-about-you can’t burn its way to the surface. My heart is dormant, knowing what it wants–knowing the feel of being functional and alive in that stupid metaphorical sense (stupid, I suppose–I’ll still live through it). My brain is trying to start, tripping over the strands of bullshit I’m quickly losing patience for.
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