Walking the plank

From an old journal

When I drive late at night, I tend to retreat into my head. I guess I retreat into my head just about all the time, but it is especially true when I drive at night. On the way back from my parents house tonight, I was driving Josh back with me, but we didn’t say much at all. I was looking at the stars above the treetops and the strange lights of the moon cast across the urban settings. It made the whole thing seem really out of wack. I felt like I was way out of the world, far back in my head in some place where nothing would ever touch me again. It was comforting and disturbing, at the same time. Not at all like normal meditation for me.

The last time I remember this disconnection, the one that wasn’t completely pleasant, is from late October my junior year of high school. It was the time when I worked at the haunted hayride with Colleen and Stephanie. Come to think of it, that might have been my sophomore year. Who knows. The point is, I was walking through the woods and completely out of my head, out of control, out of my mind. I was dancing around campfires one minute, crouching in the cold wet grass the next and for some reason that was the entire world for me. There was nothing outside of that camp, outside of the hayride. Such an odd place to find yourself, as the final haunting grounds. I wonder if it might be some manner of afterlife for someone.

I guess it’s normal to have moments like that. Maybe the turkey overload did something to me tonight. Maybe all the triptofan was flowing in my blood and made me a little too lucid. That’s what it felt like, a lucid dream. Not quite real, but real enough to claim it is. I should have shrunk myself or started flying when I had the chance. Instead, I am blindfolded with earplugs typing this entry. I’ll go back and format it in a minute and correct my spelling. I can’t stand when I do a sloppy job these days. Gah… what horrible rambling.

To the point? I swear sometimes that life is too complex for its now good. I wonder if I am meant to really do it like other people. I don’t think I want to, and sometimes I doubt if I really can. It’s depressing. I want to get a house-husband job or something on occasion so I wont have to worry about the hustle and bustle. I want to focus on one thing at a time, on loving and being loved (I just listened to Nature Boy as performed by Nat King Cole), or just being. I want to rest my eyes, meditate away the hours, and feel that my life was spent doing more than following suit. I don’t think people are suited for this job. For this illegitimate spirit-drain. Ugh. I want to retreat sometimes from it all. I want to retreat most times.

I want to be a father one day. I want to raise children and teach them what I’ve learned and set them off to make their own mistakes. I want all that stuff, but not work, not dancing at clubs or buying sheek clothes, a new car, or daycare. I don’t want to worry about flossing, or flavored ice-cream. I most certainly don’t want to worry about “work”. I think I’d be happy doing what Lemieux is doing sometimes. It may be a lot of so-called work, but it’s honest. It’s doing physical movements, exploring, guiding, teaching. I don’t want my life to be constrained to this chair and this machine. I feel like to do so would make all my time here pointless. I think I’m just repeating Markus’ complaints, but I feel them very strongly too.

I guess I just want to make the decision soon. Do I really do this stuff? Or just use the education and do something simple. I know what my guidelines say. I hope I can listen to them.

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