Random Acts of Awesome

I feel like I have this black, viscous poison swirling under my skin, slowly getting closer to the surface the older I get. And while I have always known it was there, I have never known where it came from. It never made any sense, this poison. Not in conjunction with the memories I have of my past. I have memories of being happy, of everything being ok. But the memories are like paintings. They are bright and full of sunshine, so bad things can't be happening in them. The mind rejects the idea that beauty can hold bad things. The older I get, the closer this black tar seeps to the surface, the more I realize that it was put in my veins by something. That it resides in every bright color, every layer of sunshine and childish laughter. The blackness sharply highlights the light, making chiaroscuro sharp enough to cut out of these technicolor memories. I think about how hard I worked to look happy, how unacceptable it was to be unhappy. I think about how manipulated my entire rea

I am in a holding pattern, and I'm not sure why. I don't know what this tether is comprised of, the one that holds me, however loosely, down. I wake up every morning and I wonder at myself, wonder why I am here instead of there, with no real idea of where there is. It's much like being a teenager, this angsty feeling of dissatisfaction with the here and now. This blinded striving towards you know not what. This is far more important, though, than any decisions I made as a teenager. This is, truly, the rest of my life, whatever it is I am longing to move towards. I know it, I feel the importance and impatience building. Yet still I sit and welter in comfort and the known. Fear is definitely a composing string on this tether. Fear of the unknown, fear of the images in my head of what people who want what I want look like. These preconceived notions are potent, are impossible to ignore. People who quit their jobs for ideals, people who throw themselves into uncomfortable ye