HOWLYA

I Stopped Worrying

I am so goddamn bored it hurts. I felt caged and wild today, so I screamed in my car for about two-point-eight miles. Over my head inconsolable. This boiling is overflowing. So the stream may carry me and my disappointed rage right out my car door to someplace just a little bit more free. 

Everything in my life is in order-neat, tidy and literally contained in boxes. I keep reframing sentences to make positive things happen in my life-this is what I believe, but it’s so utterly exhausting. Probably better to forego the self-pep and just stop trying to suck it up. Do something worthless or of worth, while I give a final kick at this useless smile of denial. Maybe it’s got some teeth, but bored is better than fakery.

Perpetual happiness is a myth. Perpetual anything just doesn’t exist. Gurus say to just be, but forgive me-I thought we were here to do stuff. 

I remember my dreams better than my days. Important stuff sticks to you, or so they say. It doesn’t matter because what I am say isn’t important; what I do is. And when I am saying these words back to myself I am doing something. So what if I forget about it tomorrow?

I tend to feel self conscious about everything, unless I’m engaged in my work or in your words. Yes you who dares to consider the letters I felt worthwhile with whom to share. I like to observe the light and shadows as they flow over the forms of subtle forehead wrinkles, feathers in your lips, shifts in your uneven ears. We all have them. It’s perfect. 

Spacing out feels good, and I really like it. Making lists gives me doubt, fear and a false sense of security that what I’m doing has any worth. 

My wrists hurt when I write because I press too hard. I read somewhere once that it means I feel too much. Who doesn’t feel like feeling a lot? I’ve never heard someone say I don’t want to feel more. They might have been on some pills, maybe. 

But I have to admit I stopped worrying. That freed of a lot of time and while I often feel happy in those hours, some of it is just shitty and boring. And goddammit I care more. Like I needed more stuff to care for, but I do.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I started to like the way I am.

Thanks,

Rachel