Hey man, back off. I'm having a bad day.
A bad week.
I'm exhausted from nothing.
Staring at the blue glow screens.
Making plans/Hoping for things to happen.
No one ever announces the future is here.
I don't want to believe I'm only some giant pile of mush; soft enough to get bug-stomped and squashed or rotted out from mounds of cells turning on each other.
No, no, no. I don't want to believe that.
Not now. Not while I'm about to start doing things.
No for real this time.
I've been all talk for so long that it's hard not to feel some sense of foreboding doom now that things are quietly starting to move on.
Those black thoughts don't wash out so easy though, you know?
Maybe you don't.
I've been dropping my stock by diagnosing every ache as a death sentence. One day it will be something but being on guard for an eventual blood-piss is an easy way to wear everyone out and corkscrew yourself deeper into the crazy tunnel.
So I'm going away from the ocean.
No more cool, salted, midnight breezes that remind you of all those hopeful, teenage nights; enough to make you think maybe everything isn't over yet.