Struggle as we may, “fixing” will never make sense out of change. The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.
i’m tired of trying.
i’m tired of not trying.
i’m tired of thinking.
i’m tired of searching.
i’m tired of coming up empty-handed.
i’m tired of working.
i’m tired of reading.
i’m tired of writing.
i’m tired of being.
i’m tired of not wanting to be tired.
i feel like things are becoming too routine. i’m feeling lazy, but when i muster up some motivation, i lose sight of it and crumble.
or perhaps it’s just the hormones that come around this time of month.
i need to fix my car this weekend.
the lock clicked as she activated the sensor to unlock the door. she pulled the heavy steel open just enough to squeeze through. a stench hung in the air on the dock–stale cigarettes and thick humidity. ‘it must’ve rained at some point,’ she thought as she squinted through the haze across the parking lot. clip clop. clip clop. she had spent the day holed up in her office, but now the asphalt beneath her lay obediently motionless under her trudge. clip clop. clip clop. the sound of her high heels echoed through to her very soul.
she didn’t know when it had started. she didn’t know when it would end. Julie only knew she had a job to do. her heart hung in her chest like a lump she couldn’t swallow. that nagging feeling from which she could not run away. the car started immediately, completely ignorant of its anguished operator. the radio was no consolation, but she blasted it anyway.
her therapist told her to let loose and stop worrying, but she could never understand actually how to do those things. she would go home today just like the other days, and have a drink. or two. maybe three. her laptop would stay in its case tonight. ‘no…maybe just a little bit of work,’ she thought as she drove. ‘the first phase of analysis on the anderson project must be…’ her thoughts drifted. so did her car.