Breathe

Keep your head above the water and breathe, big deep breaths. I feel strange these days. Like any day, any minute, something terrible'll happen. Fatalism is not good for the morale. I want freedom, yet I shackle myself. Go figure, it's the old cliché: I'm my own worst enemy. Life is life is life and there ain't nothing else, so get used to it. That's it. There should be something more, but no. I know. I'm just human, it's normal to want to be God. Almighty. To shit thunder and lightning. But no. I'm small. And yet: I am everything. I feel strange these days. The past is two dimensional. A narrative with blurry pictures and film. The future is black or white, never any shades of grey, it's hope and despair, it's either/or. Just two compartments. Cynicism is the denial of hope, even though it's there. The present, this minute, this second, is a dream. A fancy patchwork of colors and shapes and emotions. Try telling me you had a choice, back then. Making a list of what you've done. I'm not sure anymore. I'm an old lab rat. Conditioned. Bury me in an old shoe box. Flush me down. I feel strange these days.