At the beginning, you float just atop the surface. But slowly, you ease in. And then you begin to sink. Some unseen force pulls you under, softly, gently, but firmly, with conviction and malice.
Until, at last, your fingers graze the soft silty sands of the ocean’s floor…
It’s all falling apart.
The world, the country, myself, and now my house.
Does anyone know how to fix a doorknob by the way?
Because mine is currently resting in my hand.
I think I can fix it. I think it’s fixable.
The rest of it all feels Big and out of my control.
Last week, I ended with several questions that I had no answers for—sort of shaking my fist angrily at my conception of Western Cultures of Grief and how they’ve fucked me up. Over the following week (lifetime), I looked for answers to those questions, internally and externally. Of course, I found no hard answers, but I think I might have found a few insights…
You felt good today. Productive, healthy. You felt yourself opening up, letting go, shedding ages of uncertainty and awaiting something new to lift you up and away. You saw the future. You felt control and purpose. You felt light and free, floating—but not aimlessly. You felt at ease with what was to come…
Hey, hey, hey, welcome to Triple A, and no, it’s not car insurance. It’s a blog where I write about how I feel in a way that will maybe resonate with someone, somewhere, out there (though it will, doubtless, just disturb most people). In all likelihood, it’ll just be me, sitting here, screaming into the abyss as usual and waiting for someone to scream back…