If I should cast off this tattered coat,
And go free into the mighty sky;
If I should find nothing there
But a vast blue,
Echoless, ignorant --
This is my one of my very favorite poems ever.
I've never seen it as purely a comment on whether
or not there is an "after" for this life or not, as I made
that decision for myself a long time ago (Nada. Zip.
Not in my summation anyways. I'm not the boss of
you- think whatever you want to think, Thinky
For me, this has been a less tangible, less obvious observation on those things that we see off in the future
and wonder, "Should I?"
What if I cast off the idea that my job is possibly a tireless routine that, over the years will suck my soul
out despite the amazing hours and great pay, and start seeing it as something that I, theoretically, have the
power to forge into something life-changing? What if I'm wrong about that and get stuck in an endless
routine of contentedness and hamster wheelishness?
What if I dare to do the things that I know will maybe make my restless and never-contented ass happier
than I probably deserve to be? What if I don't? What if I was wrong in the first place? What if I was
Earlier this week, I fleetingly thought, "What if I really do have food poisoning and I have a 'whoops I
crapped my pants' moment at work?" Ok, I guess that's not relevant to the existential b.s. here, but I
thought it nonetheless and I am nothing if not an oversharer. Spoiler: I didn't crap my pants.
Anyhoo, I think my LONG standing writer's block has stemmed from my basic life-paralysis. I feel like
I'm damned if I do, damned if I can muster up anything anyways. I know change is needed, but for the
first time in my life I'm not 100% sure what those changes need to be. Maybe I need another dog, maybe
I need another hobby besides competitive internet shopping and precision nose-blowing, maybe I need to
bomb the shit out of everything I know as normal and create something new. I have some leanings towards
certain things, but I think I've been waiting for some sign from the leprechauns that tell me what to do.
Last time they told me to start fires, so I occasionally question their motives, but hey- it's what I've got.
I have the wheels of change in motion, but they're moving slowly, which is probably for the best. When
they move too fast I tend to run over things like squirrels and souls. One lets out a sad, squishy squeal
when this happens, the other is more of a disappointed sigh.
Not sure where this is going, mostly I wanted to explain my absence in some other way beyond a blithe,
dismissive, bullet-pointed recap that I normally would do. If anyone is reading anymore, and I'd be
shocked enough to maybe crap my pants for real if they were, I am back. For realsies. I feel like I
needed a "breaking the hymen" (again) post to get back on that horse.
Well, I'm bleeding from the crotchal region (metaphorically, dummies) and trotting away happily on
my steed, ignoring the fact that last time I rode I was horribly sore and chafed in my nether-regions
the next day. Also? I may have horse-riding and "donkey shows" confused again.
I'm easily confused.
Happy Wednesday, my existential little nuggets of horse poo. Happy Wednesday.