One step at a time

 

Please note this was written on Sunday. I’m fine now… heh.

 


 

It’s coming around again
Pulling me down into the sludge
Remember me, it hisses.
You nearly forgot me.
You thought I was gone didn’t you.
No, it’s never gone.
But I will never succumb to something so vile.
I am stronger than this thing
That lives in my brain.
I am stronger than anything
That might take up residence there.
Everything
On my terms.
I will not let it have me.
I have it
It does
Not
Have me.
I can weather this storm.
I’ve weathered worse.
I’ll probably have to weather worse again.
It’s just another day
And all I really have to worry about
Is the next step.
Brush teeth.
Wash hands.
Don’t let the inertia pull you down.
Fight.
Fight.
Go for a run.
Try some chocolate.
Get up, go to the bathroom.
It’s not hard
But my god
It’s so hard.
Don’t hurt yourself.
Don’t kill yourself.
You are not at fault.
Don’t drug.
Don’t drink.
Write, write, write, write, write.
Go for a run.
It’s okay to order in.
It’s not that hard.
It’s so hard.
But it’s not hard.
Just focus on the next step.
All day I dream of sleeping
All night I dream of sleeping.
Everything is in black and gray.
Don’t cut yourself.
Don’t swerve the car into traffic.
Don’t follow that mental path.
It’s not about willpower
It’s just about impulse control.
We can do this.
We got this shit in the bag.
It might only last a day
If you’re lucky.
If you run.
If you make dinner.
If you get up and go to work.
If you don’t hurt yourself.
If you get some sleep.
If you take a shower.
Don’t count the time.
Every second is a year.
Just focus on
Doing the laundry.
Feeding the cat
Getting the groceries.
You can do this.
Hang on.
You can do this.
Hang on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Journal – On fearing death

 

I am afraid to die.
I am afraid to live.
I love life but it is never enough.
If I had kids I could say, there, I did that, I made something good.
If I were a real writer I could shake the world up a little.
But I’m just normal
Trying to be happy.
Having achieved happy
I fall out of happiness
And must work my way back up again.
What if I get sick.
What if I only have twenty good years left.
What is the difference
If I only have fifty years
Or twenty years?
Either amount
Is nothing
Nothing
A wisp of dandelion
The heartbeat of a gnat.
We are born of an enormous universe
We are fleas
Specks
Motes
Less still than that.
Our time is tiny.
It is easy to forget.
Our time is a splinter of ice
That melts the moment it exists.
Time is my enemy.
Time is my friend.

I write in dichotomies.
I write about time.
To live in that moment before death
To never forget where you’re going
To never forget where you are.
Every second
Must
Be
Savored.
I read a story about a man
Going to his execution.
He tried to split every moment in half.
He hoped that by doing this
The last moment
Would never arrive.
Today I breathe
Again.
A victory.
Today I remembered
What yawns before me
Is an open grave.
How soon will it accept me?
How soon will I accept it?
And when I get to the edge
I want to look back and say,
Yes. I savored those moments.
I squeezed more out of life
Than anyone.
I never
Never
Took what I had for granted.
Everything was precious.
Everything was vivid.
Everything was loved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Get up

 

Friends keep us up.
We remain open eyed
Because they shake us.
Get up, they say.
Get your ass out of bed.
Come play.
Look at this beautiful world.
How can you sleep now?
Why are you wallowing like this?
Pull free from this sticky mire
take my hand
I’ll help you.
My example is your example to follow.
I’m awake.
I have troubles.
You do too.
Let me get you a coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Hold someone’s hand

Hold someone’s hand
Feel the comforting soul within it
Know you are not alone.

Life is a losing game.
We cannot dominate.
Hemmed in by death
Battling the inevitable
It helps
To have another living thing beside you
A reminder
That you’re not the only one
Holding fast
To this tenuous state.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Journal – No sound of crickets here

 

Yesterday was my birthday. Since my birthday is a national holiday, quite a few people were allowed to stay home. Instead of working I chased my nephew and nieces around outside, sat in front of a fire, and had a nice dinner.

The kids had erected a steep five foot slide out of the snow, with no stairs. It was packed slick from many kid butts, so the only way to really use it was to throw yourself facefirst over the side wall and then slide down on your belly like a penguin. The kids managed to sled down it, go down on their knees, all kinds of tricks. I was just happy to be able to manage the penguin thing.

For my birthday present, I made my sister buy me cricket powder. Then we made cricket crackers (the cricket-eating community like to call these “chirps” instead of chips) and her whole family was forced to eat them with dinner. It was all that I could have asked for and more!

We learned that crickets taste odd. Very earthy. They’re little earth golems, so they taste like dirt, cocoa, mushrooms, strange buggy overtones, and the occasional tiny gravel crunch that makes you stop chewing and go… what part was that? All in all a very brown flavor.

I could get to like them. They’re healthy, sustainable, and a source of protein in many other cultures. But it’d take some training, some mental gymnastics, and a lot more cricket powder. It’s too expensive! And why should I work so hard to train myself to enjoy a food which would just further cull me from the herd?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

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