Free write: The Drifter Angst journal

I met this man who related to me, in that he felt he was a drifter of sorts. "I rarely connect and I feel alone alot," he expressed, saying for me, words that I've been unwilling to admit. He also said he was a social snob (way to own it), a grass is greener, who didn't see the point in a lot of the conversations people have, who jumped ship after the honeymoon relationship stage of romances wore off, and usually preferred his own company. I felt as if I was conversing with the mirror. The lingering thought of romance with this gentleman was shrugged off, although he talked in metaphors and seemed to hold a keen eye; I can only imagine the trainwreck of romancing a twin. I figure, there is no promise in romance anyways, right? Most everything cresendos then falls. Safe, free= friendship. I maybe a risktaker in most everything but I can't seem to want to take a risk on someone else. I complicate it. I make a mess. Which gives me the best reason to forget about it all together and go about my merry way. Solo. Immature, but never indiferent. I hold on for too long to everything that was ever right about those romantic interactions, meanwhile knowing the reality of the situation was TRULY all wrong. By God, that's why it ended so soon, right? O then little things haunt me- reminding me of those short flings: the way the back of a strangers neck looks in a certain light, chai tea burning my tounge, Pink Floyd playing as I check my rearview mirror, simple sayings. Those men  of heartbreak past, linger with me. I seem to always care last but leave first.

But I'm rambling here. I know it's a freewrite, and it's completely allowed- but let's get back to topic. So in the end, I sit back, in a state of observation. If you meet me on the street, either our small talk will quickly wind down into a a tornado of interview questions or I'll silently look you over. If it's the first, I won't want to stop with question after question until I figure out exactly how you tick. Please don't feel too intimidated- I take questions too. But then I'll be fine with walking away, savoring what I've gained, and never seeing you again. I apologize in advance. If you give me your number, I'll enjoy the memory when I look at it scribbled on the back of a receipt or inside a book. I'll leave any re-occurrence of a meeting to chance. Chance may even be, I wasn't able to ask all the questions I wanted- so I'll call you to set up round two. Most cases, I let interactions go, rememeber what I can, and am hungry to find more.

Meanwhile I find myself constantly caught up in my own stream of thoughts, and seem to be fine there, alone. Intermittedly, I realize that I'm lacking group laughs, tender kisses, and hours long converstions ( Now, if you're still reading this- I want to tell you that I love you, because you are obviously either my mom or a very close friend) and seem to find them in the places I least expect and also expect the most. Whether you come momentarily in half hour conversations in coffee shops, stay for weeks-allowing me to ride passenger with you in your day to day (and tell me some secrets), or will stay just a phone call away for as long as you or I live- thank you for refreshing me on my worst days, giving me perspective when I'm drowing in myself, and lightening me up with the wittiest of metaphors. You're genius, a glass of water, boggle my mind, always. Thank you.

I wish this solo act wasnt me, it's hard to say that it really is. I feel most liberated when I'm alone. Yet it also feels like a burden at times, outside looking in- never feeling like I belong in any one place. So I jump from place to place, looking for the ideal greener grass. I'll tell you when I find it. So far I'd like to thank running trails, sleeping with pets, holding your breath on a deep dive, the look in my parents' eyes, blinking cursors, dresses, open spaces, buddies, being lost...you are home. And every place in between just can't seem to be.

Poem Challenge: Day 12

. I'm on day 12 of my 30 day poetry challenge. I'm starting to see how the more I press to make words into stanzas, the less anything fresh comes out at all. When I let myself go, without an expectation of what I'm about to produce, I'm often surprised what comes out. I like to do a free write then go back and edit to get a bit of direction on what subject I want to focus on then take it from there. Here's poem 12 for you. I'm on week 4 of training for my first marathon, although when I set out to write I didn't attend to write about running, this is just what had to come out. Hope you enjoy/relate/gain even a tad bit. P.s. this poem was abandoned...for ex. not "laboriously"...what's the right word??/ ah this could be a master piece another day :)

Poem 12:

It isn't enough,
to wake and pledge
in the bathroom mirror
as the wind finds course
as school aged children yawn

One must fore go the shower
leave a lover too soon
digest breakfast as mile marker one
comes into view

Be daunted, naught
by the creeping horizon
of mile 2
the snail pace
of legs pedaling pavement
turning over doubts
with every inching hilly rise

Shrug off
mile 5's
red flagging knees
spasming backs
humidity ticking degrees
treat yourself to some mental
re convincing
dream of airconditioning

Harness the power of doing it solo
tangled in arcing thoughts that bounce back
mile 8 dream state
suspended breath, steps, mind
an absence of time

All for

the success of eventual completion
for stubborn objectives
reaching to mountainous goals
for the accomplishment of
going here to there

laboriously.