A Life of Indecision

I've taken to wandering my neighborhood barefooted, late at night. Tonight, I saw two kids smoking pot in a car behind the junior high school and I saw N. on his way home from Napoleon Dynamite. I like to have people look out of the windows at me when I'm crossing the street and I wonder if they realize that I'm not wearing shoes. I also wonder if I know them. I suspect I don't. No one has called out to me or anything like that. I suspect that if they did know me they wouldn't call out anyway because I am, with every fiber of my filthy soles, projecting an aura of solemnity that lends itself to walking unshod through streets in a foggy and humid evening. Or so it seems to me. I like to pause slightly between steps to cast glances pregnant with gravity through their windshields in the hope that they'll wonder what the fuck I'm doing for just a moment longer. I hate walking over any kind of gravel barefooted because you simply cannot look dignified or enlightened or solemn when walking with the minced steps necessary to navigate gravel. I do like the feel of the tar used to fill the cracks. It is always delightful. You are delightful too.

I like to take these walks when I feel like there is nothing else I could possibly do. When whatever I'm writing or whatever music mix I'm making seems irritatingly static.

I'm enraged. I like saying that with a period at the end and completely monotonically. I really feel like I might be enraged though. Maybe. Kind of quietly rage-filled. I know something is going on that I'll find disagreeable and if I hear the wrong thing I'll snap like a geriatric hip. But for the moment, I'm a lot like the weather. The calm before a storm is both a cliche and inaccurate. It's the same moment though. It's the haze before the calm after the drizzle and it's completely lacking in drama. The drama still needs to become and it isn't really likely to ever materialize.

After I got into that car accident and stepped outside of my car, I almost laughed in the street. I was so relieved. The haze of life that had descended had cleared and I could breathe easily again. I always try to clear that ghastly haze with shouts and shrieks and it never seems to work. The stillness that covers everything is palpable and it pulls at me and weighs me down. Hard impacts and harsh noises send ripples through it. The quick shocks when you punch me are brief moments of relief. These impacts are relief the same way it's a relief to shrug under a heavy load. On the worst days, my skin seems to be coated with a layer of petroleum that seeps into every pore and somehow pushes me inward and compacts me and attempts to cocoon me.

What I really need right now isn't a barefoot walk.
I need a car accident.
I need something to shatter this fog that is holding me down.