Thursday, February 02, 2006:

So much running through my head, and I find myself carefully sifting through the thoughts. Careful not to … to what?

I’m thinking too much.

Stop thinking and just do.

Thoughts of leaving town have been floating around in my head all day long. And I finally pinpointed it, thanks largely to the temporal agoraphobia. It’s not that I dislike this place, Birmingham. I thought for a long time that I did, that I had problems with the conservatism, the religious oppression that runs rampant under the surface. The lack of cultural opportunities. The small town mentality. The limited potential, the glass ceiling. But as I got older, I began to realize that a lot of that is bullshit. Living in Birmingham is a macrocosmic parallel to living in Southside: I’m equidistant from big cities / the people in suburbs that I care to be close to; there is a great sense of familiarity and comfort; everything I want or need, while not within reach, is at least within driving distance.

I’ve gotten comfortable, settled, maybe even complacent.

Things are easy around here. Too easy, maybe. And I know that maybe that’s what people strive for, spend their lives working towards: being able to relax a little and knowing that things will come to them more simply and with less effort and thought. But is that what I want? At 34, no less?

I think I feel directionless because I’ve accomplished all I can in this town. All that I want to, I should say. And I wonder if there’s anything left here for me but the same things that I have now, maybe a little bigger or brighter, but still the same. I don’t feel the need to push myself, because there’s nothing to push for.

I’ve ended so many sentences with prepositions that I should probably turn in my writer’s card about now.

The thought of leaving scares me. I’ve been here so long that I’d be literally throwing myself into darkness on so many levels. And of course, there’s a fear of failure there, of having to return. But it’s more a fear of the unknown. Where do I even begin?

I don’t know. But I think it’s worth pondering, seriously and with all of my analytical skills. I’m afraid of what might lie ahead, but I think I’m more afraid of staying here and turning into what I’ve always wanted to avoid: a settler.

--

“This is not about love
'Cause I am not in love
In fact I can't stop falling out
I miss that stupid ache”

Fiona Apple, god bless her scrawny little self. I really like that last line.

--

Pieces of a jigsaw puzzle are scattered on the table in front of me, and no matter how many sections I manage to assemble, I can’t seem to figure out what the greater picture is supposed to be. I can see some trees, but I can’t make out the forest. Ha.

Confluence seems to be a word that keeps popping back up lately. Parallels. Coincidence? Possibly. Probably. But what if it’s not? What if it’s something more, a sign?

Schizophrenics see signs where there aren’t any. And whatever happened to those crazy old guys with sandwich boards proclaiming the end of the world and its nighness (yes, I know)? How many crazy people know they’re crazy?

How many sane people question things this much?

I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of the truth and absolute delusion. Somewhere between a satisfied sigh and an anguished groan. Between a breath and a scream, even. Though that’s a cheese metal lyric, so I guess I should be careful there.

I recognize part of this feeling though. It comes with being a part of something grander but future unknown. It’s the anguish that I tell myself to push away, to ignore, in order to avoid missing out on the memories that mean something down the line.

--

Jesus. It doesn’t matter how serious the thought in my head is if the Buckwheat Boyz start screaming “Peanut Butter Jelly Time” from my speakers.

Bastards.

--

In all honesty, the future is dark and scary and filled with unknown. And I like it that way. It’s exciting and filled with potential for the first time in a while – and the good that could be waiting out there is enough to spur me forward. I'm not sure where forward is yet, but I'm looking.

--

Oh, and before I forget, a word to the men out there: yeah, the tantalizing pictures of legs and backs and breasts and all the other appropriately mysterious body parts are nice. Wonderful even. But the true beauty, that stuff that kicks you in the gut with a leg that makes Beckham nervous, knocks the air out of you and leaves you begging for one more? That’s in the eyes. And in the smile, the one that you can connect with a laugh that makes you forget anything and everything.

At the end of the day, that’s what we should all be so lucky to see.