The plan is to live in Chicago, then Denver, then San Francisco, and then Seattle, as a way to be both young professional and nomad through the remainder of my 20s. The plan is to move back to Philadelphia to reduce the stress of starting over in another new city. The plan is to stay at my current job and save as much money as possible so I have the freedom to start over someplace new sometime soon without having to find another job in my current field. The plan is to apply to jobs in my current field to give me a reason to move to a new place. The plan is to decorate my apartment so it feels like a home and not a temporary storage space. The plan is to get a part-time job that pays just enough to cover bills and gives me experiences to write about. The plan is to pay off my student loans as quickly as possible so that I can reasonably be unemployed and focus on writing or photography or starting a business or some other thing I feel too weighed down to take seriously as this point in my life. The plan is to quit drinking because drinking costs too much money and is not entertaining enough. The plan is to stay single and make friends and have fun with those friends. The plan is to go out and meet someone I can eventually marry and do the whole parenthood thing with. The plan is to take life day by day and see which changes come because changes will come, but they will not come all at once. The plan is made up of contradictions. The plan is a source of anxiety. The plan depends on only me.
The feeling of wanting to have so much to say but not being able to think of anything due to already having said so much during an overextended period of time which causes new words get caught on finger tips and on the tips of tongues out of fatigue and the unwillingness to repeat repeat repeat forcing the mind go blank with emotionblock in the absence of being able to turn old emotions still felt strongly but now of inappropriate intensity into some new hypertwisted words and overminced phrases. There should be a word for that feeling.
You tell me you are blank. You are the absence of thought. You are a vessel potentially purpose-serving, but tucked away for future use. I’ve been there – I am there – a lot of the time – too much? I’ve been there, or I’ve been somewhere that, at least (I think), is similar. What remains is the anxiety of not having much to be anxious about. What remains is the fear of doing too little; of falling behind; of responsibilities sliding unintentionally by. Tomorrow’s problems are tomorrow’s, although we could handle them right now (ambition is a creeping constant – always readying its sails). Tomorrow’s problems are tomorrow’s, but they’re disguised as the worries of today, because today is simple – it’s easy – although it’s never fancy-free. I’ve been there, I’ve been now – resenting repressing an itch for unwanted unneeded responsibilities. But today is simple – it’s easy – take a second hour day: enjoy its full duration. Just remember (and remind me) to breathe.
The cadence of your voice when you’re pausing planning trying not to say what you’re not sure if you mean. The furrow of your brow as you try to turn feelings something primal something pure into language unadulterated unobscured. The words the sounds the ebbs and flows the release of tension the rise of tension while standing still standing just pausing for response. Waiting for interpretation my misinterpretation my wants my needs obscuring what you set out to define. My failures your failures the failure of words to describe to convey what’s floating freeform in two minds trying their best their very best to be one in understanding: to align.
Sweating. Always sweating. Hands damp and drips drip drop dripping down a back with a slouch weighed down by uncertainty. He could hear the combination of voices (sneers and chatting) all blending to a muffled mass indistinct but growing. Pounding. There’s a pounding in a chest. A chest that holds a heart to be exposed to be left bare. Out there. Out there. A bear balancing on a ball. A circus act: no more. Speaking words. Words he taught himself. Words of fear or fact: it doesn’t matter anymore. A turn around, a spin: 180 is the goal. Overshot and overthinking: 360 start again.
They’re all going to laugh at you: she reassured as his name was called.
Footsteps fall and he takes stage: a clown in a human suit, ready steady hoping: to be laughed with.
I reach for my phone. I check my texts. Nothing from you. Nothing from anyone. I reach for my phone. I check my texts. I start to send one. It feels unimportant. I erase I erase I erase. I reach for my phone. I check my texts. It’s just me here with my problems. It’s just me here seeking substance. It’s just me here reaching for my phone my connection my lack of barriers my lack of space. I reach for my phone. I check my texts. Nothing from you. Nothing from anyone. I think about listening to music. I think about wasting time. I think about the nonsense I want to send you so we can share something insignificant, but ours. I reach for my phone. I check my texts. Nothing from you. Nothing from anyone. I hate constant conversation. I hate my constant need to speak. I hate that I can tell you nothing the moment that nothing happens. I want to tell you everything, but everything seldom happens.
I reach for my phone. I check my texts. Nothing from you. Nothing from anyone. Strange numbers left unsaved. Words from people left nameless. If you don’t know their names, they don’t feel like people. If you don’t know their names, their emotions don’t matter. I reach for my phone. I check my texts. Strange numbers left unsaved. Strange ways to find connection. Sharing nothing with no one. Sharing nothing with me. I reach for my phone. I check my texts. Nothing from you. Nothing from anyone. Nothing from you nothing from anyone. nothing from you nothing from anyone nothing from nothing is nothing gives nothing to no one to anyone who will take it and give nothing and take nothing exchange exchange exchange nothing waste time waste space waste goods and bads and trade them for nothing with no one and what does it matter it doesn’t matter we don’t matter to no one but no one is what we need.
I am so very tired of thinking, but I can’t turn off my brain (I’ve tried). I am so very tired of thinking, but to not think would be to give up on moving forward, because moving forward requires some thought, I think. Moving forward with time (keeping slightly constant the other three observable dimensions) is a possibility, but problems pile up without at least some planning. I am so very tired of thinking, and it’s probably because I have too much time alone to think, but to not have time alone to think requires other people’s presences, and I do not have easy access to those – at least not in the personal way I want to access them. I am so very tired of thinking, because all of my thoughts these days are worries about failures and insufficiencies, although I have almost no concrete evidence of the reasons for my worries. If I lost my job today I would think, “that makes a lot of sense,” because I don’t feel like I am doing well at work because I am distracted, although I am still meeting deadlines and producing competent work. I am so very tired of thinking, and I feel like I am flailing, and I don’t understand how one could wave hello and then goodbye when I am motioning to be rescued. Maybe all attempts at human-to-human understanding are fundamentally flawed – and so why am I trying, and how could I think I am trying, and why am I angry or surprised that I failed you? I am so very tired of thinking the same thoughts that have lasted days and then weeks and now months. I am so very tired of thinking, and the world still turns on an axis and continues to make days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years turn to lifetimes lasting lifetimes. Whole lifetimes living stuck.