Last night I remarked in a chat with Luigi that I felt like the walls were trying to push me out. I feel like the unwanted afterbirth of my surroundings. Something in me is angry and restless and lonely — all things trembling and gnawing.
And I know the reasons. I just hate to voice them. Abandoning addictions; months (honestly years) of uprooted exposure; self imposed muzzle. Everyone points out that I’ve come semi-circle. The apartment I live in now in the opposite building of where I first moved into. That was the time I first began to seriously consider writing. As I migrated around the horse shoe of the apartments; a new level was reached.
Then I left — for a long time I left.
And so, it seems fitting that I sit, bloated and gassy and wanting it all out. So the walls are squeezing me out. My loved ones are waiting. Everything is raw and at the end of this tunnel I can only hope someone will be able to clean up the mess.
Yep, it’s time.