Five-minute free write
Keep on pushing and pulling until running out of things to say or do. We are estranged in our thirties. THis is sad. I miss the past but I miss the future, and I am jabbering on and on about the same three jokes until I get ired and fall asleep, dreaing of the days when my words meant things, and my ideas were flesh. Well, I don’t know. The hand is just detached from the arm now, and I have no idea what that even means. We are sick and tired of the passing of time, and we are getting too old and our lives are going too far beyond where we thought they should leave. Where are the opportunities? Have I missed them all? I despair that it will be routine that I settle for from hereon, and I question why it would be this way. Is it all something in my control, or is it all something that we just have forcced upon us by some malevolent deity who uses us like chinese checkers. What do I even say when I do this? This is where the past and the future collide. Get on the road and take yourself through the woods and avoid the moose crawling out, and once you’re past that God-forsaken stretch of highway you can go on with your life and join the rest of the outside world. Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you don’t mind my rambling like normal. This is it.