I'm sitting on the sidelines of my own life. An audience member rather than a participant. Removed. Unable to reach the flow of the river, which is clearly moving at a rapid pace in one direction. There's that palpable ache again-it's reach deep into my psyche, yet the bruising is in my heart.
Writing is about the last thing I want to do right now, and the only thing I want to do. There is no in-between, no comfort zone. I am lashed by my own thoughts. Life is marching forward. I have yet to find my place.
If I squint my eyes I can barely make out a turn up ahead. If I could just jump in and ride, I'd be OK. It's the rocking back and forth with indecision and non-action that haunts me.