2002-03-12 - 8:44 p.m.
Today I sat in the toilet at work thinking:
It was a brushing ponder,
A thought I held while tearing paper, zipping up, and drying my hands.
I don't want to grow up.
I really mean it- if you were to look me in the eyes you'd see no hint of jest.
It's as if I've entered another world of possibilities.
Of light and ambiguity, of thorns and being leather-skinned.
Such delicate balance.
Open up and swallow me whole.
It's not about responsibilities- I register both my action and their reaction perfectly.
The issue here is the overlap -
Whose actions and whose reactions?
It's like being the next runner in a 4 by 100 relay.
Except it'll last almost a lifetime, not 100 metres.
Tap me and I'm IT.
It's also not about change.
I'd admit I like routines, it allows me to get lazy;
But what the fuck happened to the transition stage?
You know, the one where people get to take baby steps and aren't called cowards.
It's as if they'd all been waiting with bated breath.
I've finally gotten here and there are things to worry about.
Beyond my self-absorbed world of my decisions and my consequences.
My heart's a sponge and my brain a Velcro strip.
There are messes to clear up,
Things to be labelled, boxes sealed.
