I've decided there are too many opportunities in the world to ever feel like you've missed out on something.
And even if that's untrue, or unhealthy, perhaps thinking it will keep it apparent, keep it salient, keep it alive.
There was this moment at work today, lost in mounds of emails, wondering when 4:30 would rear her beautiful (if not regrettably absent) head when I realized that I've spent too much time fixated on things that are outside of my control.
It's sort of my schtick, though, to isolate, to fixate, to hover above a moment in time, like snow caught on a mid-air wind. Is it that all I am is a flurry, a bustling little cloud of thoughts and questions, roiling above the ground, unsure of where to land, and wholly indifferent?
And when I land, will I feel appreciated, and will it matter? Will I be missed? Will I be anticipated?
Who will I disappoint, who will I please, who will care?
Questions like little fogs of gnats: bustle in and and out and over and under and pull me close only to drive me away with their incessant buzzing, their prickling hum of "and then what?"
Breathing comes too unnaturally in the face of so many little unseen questions marks.