Choices

To say the abruptness had a single cause would not be an accurate portrayal of events. To say it had multiple causes would not be accurate either. It is one of those things in the world that stop abruptly because of a death of momentum and a lack of will to attempt motion of any kind.

In such circumstances, anger comes easy. It comes even easier when you can’t find that door in a room with only walls – a door’s existence which you are aware of, but it just can’t be found. You know it is there because it used to be there.

I find a discarded chocolate wrapper, another fine layer of dust on a table top just a few days into it being cleaned. There is so much out of alignment. There is so much out of place. You clean, you put things back in place. Rinse-repeat.

If the last dated missive was a clue, this is the final proof: does not matter if the straws are there, does not matter if there is better understanding. There just is no more urge to clutch at anything. Consider it a termination of the urge.

Over time I’ve lost my inner mooring. My reference point to me is no longer there. I’ve doubted it and erased it so much over time that I have little understanding of what I feel anymore, let alone they ‘why’ in it. What is a left or a right when you know not where the center is?

Social wisdom and folklore would remedy this with a quick trip to the altar, followed not much later by babies and whatnot. Even if you can’t get it right, you can at least point at the numerous millions would could not either. We are not alone.

In largely turning my back, I’m letting go of empathy in either direction. After numerous encounters with outcomes that have been so far away from the intent, I have little interest in the backstory. I simply does not work.

In living it is my choice to give up all that is contributory. I do not know exactly what of me works right anymore. At this point there is little that I can see on that front. But that is no excuse to blindly continue doing what I’ve kept on doing all my life.

These are trying times. To know and be known is not nice. But, even in its full scalding glory, it is what it is. We live the lives we choose. We do the best we choose to do.

Photo credits : Peter Douchette.

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