Out of Range

I don’t know what this is. I sat down this morning with the intention of figuring it out and it is now the afternoon and I still have no idea. Wanting to write with nothing to write about, with not enough time to do anything particularly thoughtful.

I have found everything frustratingly boring lately. Moments usually met with patience and meditation are now thrown together and irritating. It feels that my capacity for joy has disappeared, that I have entered an era of unending bitterness. And I know it is only because it is easy, being pessimistic always is. I have been trapped in a daydream state, refusing to participate in living and getting out of bed is getting harder and harder. I haven’t been reading at all lately. Unable to focus, unable to get out of my head. All I want is to stand in the middle of the woods and sink my feet into a stream, smell the damp foliage and listen to the loud quiet.

I’ve been watching videos of ships crashing into massive waves. The way the water covers everything only for the boat to rise up again, small waterfalls forming for a brief second off the sides, repeated over and over until eventually they reach calm seas. This is not a metaphor for anything, I do not wish to be a ship weathering grand storms. There is just something comforting in the fear I feel when watching the inevitable wave hit.

Thank you for reading,

Enya x