Some days, I feel like a walking paradox. I need structure, but I rail against it. I need certainty, but I provide myself and others with none. I often despise ambiguity and just want it told to me straight, but I, myself, am ambiguous and ambivalent and I don't know what to do about it. I need control, but give it up to others regularly. I can take charge, but I don't mind being the sheep. I thrive in the quiet, but idleness makes me crazy. And I want patience from others, but I fail to be patient myself.
The previous few months have shown me exactly this. My last post likely hinted at it. I get inside my head and become trapped, uncertain, scratching to escape. I know I need to let go of things, but I hold on to them greedily, like a rottweiler. Can it be that I hold the key to my own imprisonment? If so, why do I insist on hiding my mode of escape?
I realize this is clear as mud and likely makes little sense to the three friends who continue to indulge this wholly egotistical practice of blogging, but we all need an outlet. Running has been one of the latest outlets, but I can only run so far and so long before body gives out and my mind remains. But the impulse to write stays strong, just as it did when I was just an angsty teen looking for an argument or some way to engage with the world around me. So I guess I'll keep on writing and trying to figure out my life. Pen to paper, foot to pavement... question to question to question...
T
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