Confusing It For The Whole
Spilling an almost-litre of water over my desk one hour into tomorrow brought everything into astonishing focus. Before I solved the mystery that is life but after realising that at least 10 hours work was now bleeding diluted black ink onto the floor, there was a moment of something.
I was too tired to wail uselessly at the loss of my lettering.
It was a moment of you’re not here. It was being acutely aware that these past weeks I have been holding things together; the important ones are gathered in my arms, close to my chest as I step carefully over the broken whatever-that-was on the floor.
It doesn’t usually end well, thinking this much at 1:32am when you’re lacking logic and have stopped caring how many circles you go round in. But as uncomfortable as this is, I’d rather make the first cut into honesty now, before I know I’ll change my mind. It’s the vaguely irrational fears, the ones that are like those people who just keep taking and whose motives are inherently bad.