I am mostly impatient. On a minute by minute basis, I am constantly jumping head. On a theorectical plane, I want results. On a tangible plane, I want explanations. I consider that I might have some sort of quantum-affliction that will only be diagnosed 1000 years from now that prevents me from being in just one place at one time.
Perhaps I'm just an obsessive multi-tasker. That surely comes to play in many spheres of life.
I want the ankle to heal. I want to ride my motorcycle... I want another motorcycle. I want to go to Israel. I want someone to kiss. I want to feel. Everything.
And then I remind myself: be careful of what you want.
I want to live, by G-d, loudly. So you can't get me to swear to this grand theory when I'm weeping my eyes out, feeling the low after the intense high. That doesn't mean I don't mean it. It means I'm busy wailing and mourning. DND, BRB.
You know, good shit often hurts when it's gone. That's just how it works. Like love. Like skin.
I want to heal. I want to feel. I am obsessing over not obsessing. Not so much in a corkscrew spiral downward. Maybe in a gearing up to spring?
Spring, new, rebirth. I hate myself again for crashing my bike. I was waiting so long all winter for good weather, warmer weather.
I wait, I wait. And my insistence on Now brings it crashing to a halt. I need to slow down. Even further than before. Slow. Way. Down. Change direction. Is this me telling myself to chill? A voice from the other side of the room that is still just me: There is love out there. There is language in there. Just wait.
Great. I do need practice in waiting.