Jolt and Crash

A few nights ago I threw all my covers off my bed, while half-asleep. Half-asleep, hand X'd, arm bruised, and completely disoriented in my own blue room. It almost took hours before I processed the complete darkness, and finally dug up the sheets from the floor. 

Like a brick wall had hit me, sober, without any cause. 

I was furious there were no conditions to blame. I felt sick. Cheated or counter-attacking out of nothing but darkness. Run...and-BANG into that wall. 

And ever since I've been 10 minutes late. Leaving, joining, replying, returning...completely late.

Like a maddening cycle of still--jolt--crash, and back again. 

Causing a morning heavy, sloppy, form of stalling. Causing longings of reclusiveness, fighting against the ones of tart concoctions. Since the muscles ache and the inspirations don't come on command.

It's the mad rush of discarding...and confused-trying to right what'll grow dirty on the hardwood floor.

It's the homeless man on the median strip who let me take his portrait-bursting conversation, it's the little old bag lady running across a York Road intersection, it's the cop who saw my telephoto lens and (I'm convinced) stopped to pose in mid-directing of a traffic jam. 

All the people looking for an even rhythm. These are the weeks where weekends tingle with so many places to be. It overwhelms and exhilarates those it doesn't pass over. For a couple smiles, a couple photographs, and a couple minutes it feels like yourself-complete,...before the mood shifts again....and again...

Before another hour goes by in the 410.

Daily headphones: Matt Nathanson's "I Saw", get the live acoustic version, and just unwind.