Post Life

So I begin again and the music for the Closer comes to mind. Bittersweet and "sad" as my mother always says, but then backs away from all that sadness with the faith, hope and trust of her lord and savior. Oh how I hunger for that kind of faith..  This is free think writing at its best. I sit and am finally blank. When I try to medicatate, my mind twirls and swilrs in so many direction, I cannot see the "forest for the trees". And now that I am writing again? Wo woulda thought tath I ramin a blank canvass? I should be happy for this, but am not. It must be the adjustment tot the meds. Oh the meds. Oh the darlings of my life. Giving me a clear picutre of who I am without the veil of darkness. How did it come to pass that within the blink of an unadulterated eye, I can change my path, again, so swiftly that I don't know the pain and destruction I leave on the path? I speak of removing myself from the thoes of a college driven life where I wince over micreconomics. I undersood it and I get the concepts, just don't ask me about sceanios and applying that shit in everday life. Too much wasted time when all I could think about was, maybe in the next lifetime I will be a writer. WTF? I want it in this lifetime. I want the written word to mean something. I want to share it withers and have it resonate have it refelcted back at me that it means something to me and n therefore to others. There is so much bottled up in me and as I stir the pot, the mix is blended and all that shifted to the , into sediments is being lifted higher and higher into the light. Work. Ahhhh, yes, that lovely word work. I said something to another mother last night. Retire. Retire? YUes, I got a taste of that when I was out of work for that perod of time after being harshly let go. Oh how I hate that I must revisit so that I can feel the wings of the phoenix rising and taking hold of it, all of it, to change and morph into soemthing so surreal, it becomes the replace imaery of that sickening time.  A time of ostracizing, of retreating, of being met with stonewalling. I am sick, sick, sick of being the hurt, citimzed fuck-up. I want to spread those wings and fly above it all. Onto the aged telephone poles and look down on it all, and then spread my wings and fly away above rooftops, through puffy white clouds. To stop and rest there for a spell. To draw it all into to me agin and relase it with the heavenly stars. I want this wrterly life to enrich and fulfill me like it has never done before. I wan the click of keyboarding to be the music to my ears. I want so much of the internal to breed a life in me that improves my posute, changes my gait, installs a permanet smiles on my face. I want that and I want it so badly. I have had my head in scholastic study ofor over a year. Steadily paced and enriching for sure. Meaningless? FULLof meaning. For what I DON'T want.  Scary the depths that I go in order to gain control of my life as it were. Scary.