Unsettled

(Note: this blog was originally written on May 2, 2007 - I was in a cranky mood and this is one of my favorites of my written pieces)

I could be doing a hundred different things right now. Instead I sit and stare at the computer screen with a blank. A blank what? A blank everything. A blankety blank blank blanket of sorts. Don't blankin' read over my shoulder you blanker. I wanna feel blank by my blank self.

I wish I wanted to feel warmer and fuzzier than I do. I could if I chose to. But I am not choosing that. I am choosing to feel colder and stiffer. And I wanted to share that feeling with you because it's oozing out of me in a sharp and knowing kind of way, if that's possible.

I should be doing responsible things like the responsible adult that I am, but rather, I am lingering in no-woman's land. An awkward place where unsettling feelings are nurtured and grown. You have to get there by shimmying through a half open window. I scrape my back on the ledge every time, yet I continue to crawl over here. I sit on a sharp rock that looks like volcanic remains and gaze into a too sunny distance that I have to squint at in order to see a whole lot of nothing.

This deserted place is where I can find a little respite, it is edgy and still and is ear piercingly silent. So go away with your offers to sit in the hot tub with me. That chemical soup makes me wretch with memories of romance and laughter. Exactly what I am not craving.

I should be doing a thousand things right now. I am not. I am spewing my thickness into cybertherapy and wondering if someone out there is going to offer to crochet a sweater with it for me. I'm wearing a lead blanket and it's weighing me down as an anchor I embrace like a life jacket. Hopefully this martian planet I've discovered offers leaps and bounds of cosmic magnetism. I want to be drawn up, up and away.

I'm looking to fly like a kite into the universe. I'm going to stay here until I sit long enough to run into whatever it is that's looking for me. I will remain blank until I'm not. It feels like it might be awhile, as I shift on my pumice perch. It's okay with me. The window is still in sight. I haven't ventured off too far. It's an uncomfortable comfort that is just right - for now. It doesn't require any action on my part. I am only waiting. Waiting for unblankness to uncover me. And I quite like it.