Castalia and Melinoe


I’d prefer not to speak.  I’d prefer not to need to say a word.  I’d prefer silence.  That’s what comes from following your id in those tight little mental roads that cut through a tired mind.  Branching this way, branching that way.  What will make me feel good now?  What will keep me from freaking out about the things that aren’t working out well for me?  What will hit that button, meet that mark, suffice at the lowest possible level of effort?

I have got to get this shit together.  But I’ve also got to take care of it, all of this loose, flailing, wandering shit that it is.  I’ve got to think about what a life like this is.   I have to get my emergency brake light fixed.  I have to pay that bill.  I have to clear off the desk and get the computer back up there and off the lap.  I have to make and eat dinner.  Floating between worlds, ignoring all these excellent impulses, freaking out about politics I can’t do anything about from a prone position in an unmade bed.

Well, I’ll tell you, Charlie, it’s a mite bit frustrating.

I was sent home for sick today.  It’s a quasi-sore throat.  It’s a muscle ache.  My sister’s legit sick, but I went because of stupid reasons. It’s me realizing how nice it was to leave in the light of day yesterday and not get panicky about night driving and its my mentor saying that she really needs me next week so if I don’t feel well – now’s when I should take off and sleep.  It’s this lethargy from not having seen a vegetable for well over ten years. So.  I took off.  I should have, for my pocketbook if nothing else, muddled through it.  It is so easy these days to just nah my way out of things.  To not try and reach the higher, harder levels.  To justify standing still while the floor falls away.

In light of this awareness of my own entropy, I am fiendishly excited for tomorrow.  A whole day of not going anywhere important.  A day to wash sheets and dust shelves and blow air and light into what is moldy and fungal.  What is hidden and viral.

Health and wellness in its place.

For a day at least.  A little bounce in a little step.

Time to get a Cup o’ Noodles.  Time to do the physical things I can do to shift tracks.  To commence the gathering of shits.

Water  to calm down.  Water to dive down.  Water to ride rapids.  Maybe I will get on the bike tomorrow.  Maybe this is the jitters of a hunger for movement, a dance I’ve yet to learn, a spin and an energy of overflowing life rather than of fear.  Maybe it’s one more way to blow the dust out.  Move the limbs away from the body instead of tight and close.

Maybe I will slaughter the calf and consider, once more, as ever, the lustratio.

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