"I am visited by a recurring image of myself as a frog in a witch's cauldron, surrounded by baby carrots and other vegetables, splashing around in the gradually boiling water, unmindful of the fact that I am slowly becoming… soup."
Today was an awkward day, from the first thing I did -I read, to my sitting here in front of the computer screen with my fingertips on the keyboard with an incredible urge… to write. Today I have come full circle –from dawn 'til dusk and in between, many thoughts and many dreams. Much analyzing to sort out the confusion of it all or simply to confuse what I fear is too clear?What am I searching for? I ask myself constantly. I am a fucking emotional nomad. I search, I find, I exhaust, I bore, I move, I search, I find, I fear, I feel, I ran away, and find again, I simply move, keep moving, I must keep moving. Why? I ask. I was always comfortable with my feelings about it all. I used to think I wasn't afraid to feel… and suddenly, here I am, fucking fleeing. I am a fugitive of my own feelings…How fucked up!
The thing is, I feel like I am ultimately searching for the pot of gold a the end of the rainbow (interesting choice of words), but it's true, I'm looking for that thing we tend to always build our hopes and fucking dreams on… and little by little I am realizing that I am searching for the ideal, but is it all a fucking fantasy? Is it? (I've got to figure it out!) When I'm getting so close, so close I can almost be blinded by the gold –the fucking jackpot, the rainbow itself vanishes taking everything with it. I wish I had a map, a compass, a watch, and a timeframe. I wish to be armed with all the equipment I need for this very cruel and tedious quest, but I don't.I am so tired, I won't lie. The odds are definitely against the person who searches. But I am that explorer, and my life is the land in which I'm searching. I'm beginning to think, I simply love the quest, that tiring fucking quest –and I just don't want to admit it.
When I ask my friends, my fellow explorers, since we all seem to be looking for the same thing, I figure we could compare notes, but more often than not they look confused, more so than me and I give that weird laughter, not the one you give when someone makes a joke, no, not that one. Not the something-is-funny-I'm-honestly-laughing laughter, I give the is-it-just-me-or-are-we-living-in-opposite-worlds? laughter and move along to the next topic. Apparently, the pot of gold is real to me and no one else. I just don't want to end like Columbus, dying not knowing I found more than I was looking for.It's hard sailing against the ocean's tide. It's manageable for now, with my raft still in view of the shore. I wonder if the day will come where I'm no longer in view. I fear the day when I'll be too far away… Maybe it's like a mirage of an oasis in the middle of the desert, am I craving it so bad? I'm so afraid. I fear I'm so desperate, I may have hallucinated the whole thing. And then again I see a smile, and in the depths of those eyes I see the pot, the pot of gold. I put on my boots, and keep moving, I must keep moving.
I find a place to eat, and then I read the disclaimer…
"THIS IS A GREAT FUCKING PLACE, THE COOK IS A REAL CUNT AND THERE ARE BOOGERS IN THE SOUP. WE EAT HERE EVERY DAY."
(The irony of my world)
I am finally a perspicacious explorer. Love is just an ocean away, one day I'll see another shore, and make it to the end of the rainbow, and that pot will be as real as all of the seven colors I see and follow. I have to believe it will there waiting to be found, waiting for me to find it. I will find it, I will. I now see it all, and understand
yours in chirst