Spreading invisible wings

When reality hits you in the face like a wet fish, I suggest you do your best not to complain. It's a fish and it's reality. Why make a fuss?

This morning I woke to a silent house. The Cottage could very well have been nestled in some wayward glen as I so often imagine when hearing its name. There were no noises save the sound of a few morning birds and, if the imagination worked, the sound of light glancing off a wooden floor. It was like waking up to a peace filled with promise. Sunlight does that to me. Here I am, getting things done and thinking far away thoughts.

When things slow down around me, thoughts inside speed up. Albeit inverse occurrences, they always seem to happen. That's where I am right now. Thoughts inside of me are wildly spinning at a sideways angle. My gut reaction every time is to disappear. It's quite easy, especially when you are an old pro like me. As I get older, however, the pain of irresponsibility or flight affiliated with disappearing wears me down. It's not fair to my parents or my friends. I don't think they understand and how could they, when I barely understand myself? It's not just the thinking, although that's a large part. It's me and my damn expectations.

The slightly sick thing is: when sanity returns or the ropes of reality come back to play me like a puppet, I have the expectation that all will be exactly as I left it when I return. I realize now that that can never again be the case. If I disappear again, nothing will be the same. And that's partially because I won't let it.

I'm not really as sad as this seems. I am actually quite perky! A new wind is coming and if I were a bird, I would say that my feathers are tingling. It smells like spring, it looks like spring, and if I got down on my knees I would say that it tastes like spring.

Frank Sinatra says it well: Come fly with me, we'll fly we'll fly away.