Life Bubbles

Do you ever have a pretty great day at work or at school and you come home to disarray, your child with blue hair and someone yelling at you? It’s an emotional punch to the gut and it hurts MORE because the drop from high to low is greater.

Like, come ON. You’re dancing on the way home to BPM and chuckling at yourself at how wrong you are with pronouncing the words and life in that bubble makes total sense.
Then you’re walking in the front door and that bubble pops.
And air is bubble so you don’t just stop having air. You’re in a new bubble and this one is fricken SUCKING in making sense.

But friends, I’ll have you know:  that is lifes’ format.
Bubble after bubble, burst after burst.
and you must keep bubbling along accepting the crap ones as what they are while figuring out what to do with the idiot bubble remnants on your clothes. Sometimes we dust them off, sometimes we take the clothes and place them straight in the washing machine, other times we get completely new ones.
Whatever way it is, the quicker we do it the less time it takes for a bright, pretty great day of a work bubble to float into our life cycle.

Changing the Ups and Downs

There’s still an air of change that the strands of my hair can feel. This is one of those braver, launch out to the world posts- where as two nights ago I was on my bedroom floor, my eyes leaking a fresh batch.
It is not a rolling lawn, hilly field scene. It is cliffs, jutted out rocks, grass and sand.

I walk the grasses of eager and strength and without even having time to lose my footing, I’m falling down a hole that has sandpaper walls.

I’m getting tired of these frantic and draining surprises.
It’s not like I’m getting better at them.

I’ll have to make the necessary adjustments, realign my path and try something different. I cannot continue doing the same things and expect a different outcome.
Hence, the change my hair strands can feel.

 

 

 

 

This is what You think.

You think I’m out with people.

Late at night I dance with beer sloshing out of my bottle
and straws flicking out of my thin, bending cup.

I’m busy on my phone
collecting up all the people I dropped in the past year.
I’m meeting people left right and center, going to the movies and having dinner by the lake.
You think I’m doing that
and not laying on the basement carpet staring at the water stains on the ceiling.
You think I’m blasting through this like it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done
but I’m here
I’m flipping right here
in the square middle of my bed under my covers with new tears running over the dried tears
with no desire to see or talk to any soul but you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fack.

I hate that you think I’m not doing what I am.

 

First Comes Feelings, then Comes…

I wonder what we’re all striving for.
It seems obvious at times.
Happiness. Right?

But the more posts I read on life and love, relationships and health, there always seems to be a dark donkey galloping in and out of the words.
Like we’re all wanting validation and attention. Wanting to be liked, sitting in our world of sigh-brr; claiming keys to joy and longevity, but underneath having lack of.

Maybe we’re never supposed to be entirely happy. So that we push ourselves continually, to find and be a better.

When we were late teening or early twentying, it didn’t seem that difficult, did it?
So what’s the change besides the thousand more responsibilities and the entire difference in what living then meant to living now.

If there are fundamentals of us yet we’re always changing, where does that leave us?

Acceptance.

If we accept everything that life is, and we do it enough that it becomes a habit, then we’re rolling through the evergreens with the sun blazing, rain pouring, sun falling or sun popping up,
and are fine.
Acceptance is stability.

Accepting we’re allowed to be sad, the amount of sad, the anxiety, the lulls in life, our favourite songs, our opinions and our taste buds..
accepting all the bad and good
is good.

 

 

Now just deal with that acceptance.

 

 

 

Experienced Sadness

I have a lot of reasons to be sad.
We perhaps, all do.
I have more reasons to be sad now, then I think I have had in my whole lifetime.

But thinking back to my sad times when I was 14, or 21, or even 25.
They don’t ever seem as big as the big sad things now.
With experience comes some deeper sadness within and with age comes responsible stages which-when they get messed up, seem even more like life is forever done and over with.

Which leads me to my next point.
If these big bad things in my life are the biggest they are because they are the current and most recent and in 10 years from now they will seem like they are little symbols of my still-ever growing up youth, then what’s the point of dragging them out and being stuck in them.
If they are going to be grains of sand on a beach in the end, why stay sad when being sad is the only thing keeping you from being a happy human.

The Inbetween is Real

All kinds of struggle.
I’ve kind of labelled mine in a broad but specific sense. Because THAT makes sense.
And it will. After you finish reading.

I’m inbetween wanting to walk in front of a speeding train, and wanting things to get better.

But not.

You see?

I want things to get better but I don’t want to make the effort.
It’s like wanting to lose weight but not wanting to pass on the skor bars or double cheeseburgers. Not wanting to run uphill for 2 minutes everyday or go for a walk.

In between not wanting to try for that,
I’m inbetween wanting to try for an exit.
A solution that is quite frankly, absurd.

You don’t exit because things get tough.
But you think about it everyday.

You don’t want to explain yourself to your family,
but you can’t leave without them knowing.

You don’t want life to be like this
but it is right now. Except

you can change little particles of it.
You can,
but you don’t want to.

Because being sad is easier.
Because laying in bed with a breadknife under your sons books, is a better feeling.

Because the idea of leaving, makes things better.
It dilutes trying.
It makes trying seem more difficult and thus, makes doing nothing, more justifiable. 

 

You see?

It all makes sense.

I’ll Get to Here in a Rhyme

I’ll shark my way into the system of casual beaded motion.

I’ll take the drops from the bottom of the Atlantic ocean

and
I will make fish swallow the universe.

 

I’ll clip my choices on the everlong bend of wire.

I’ll take a match and light the whole fucking thing on fire

and
I will make the clouds blow into the sea.

I’ll soul my self with a thumbtack of sewing.

I’ll take a boat and I’ll do all the rowing,

and
I will land on ground that feels like a steady world of strength and power.