paint it black
I had my first private lesson today. It wasn't much to discuss, but it's another promise kept.
Every once in a while, do you feel your own mortality jump out of the little closet it lives in inside your head and walk around scaring the part of you that's trying to keep your sanity intact?
I don't know if I snapped today because of the rapidly-decaying traffic situation around here (good lord, it feels like they're trying to kill me), or my impending crossing-the-quarter-century-line birthday, or all the talk mom and dad are doing about financial planning for the end of the game. In any case, at an unlogically random point this morning I went into a sort of morbid emotional shutdown, victim of an unshakeable feedback loop about - well - death. What I haven't done, and what I won't ever do, and the infinite tininess of the space my death would leave behind it. It pulled me chokingly deep, the sucking fissure of my own too-much-thinking, and left me gasping for reasons to continue with the day. And it left me lonely - horribly, crushingly lonely - and hollow, and burned. Sitting a trot shook the worst of it out of me - thanks, Nebraska, with your uneven gait and your ready nuzzle - but I'm really just beginning to put myself back together.
Sometimes, I wish I could just laugh, so the world could laugh with me - instead of the alternative.