Wednesday, September 14, 2016


There is a tightness in my chest that I find disturbing and all too familiar. It is not a tightness caused by any medical malady, it is not the sort of thing that makes me wonder if perhaps I have eaten one cheeseburger too many. It is not the sort of thing that one can easily name but can almost inherently understand. Whether I can articulate it or not, it is there, and each day it grows tighter as though it will crush me at any moment.

It is this feeling that finds me when I have been still too long. It is that nagging sensation that I am being idle when there are too many things needing to be done. It is the listlessness that comes from having no focus or goal. It is the feeling of futility setting in when trying to discern a clear path through the forest of apathy and inevitability of the mundaneness that is the average life.

I have felt this since I was very young. Any time I find myself without enough to keep me busy, keep my mind engaged, keep myself excited, I feel it settling in like a stubborn winter cough. It burrows in and takes hold of me. The symptoms of being antsy and restless, easily annoyed, and easily distracted are impossible to miss.

Early September always sees this happening. When I was young it was the end of a long summer where I never seemed to have the stimulation I needed to keep me from feeling listless. Now as an adult it is the end of my 'off season' between faires. At least when I was a child I had the endless time to run and play should I need to, now as an adult I am confined and restricted by day jobs and bills.

I try to fill my time but nothing holds my attentions. Things that I have long loved seem so old and dull, unable to even spark my interest let alone hold it. Things that I would long for in the busy days to come seem to be trivial and unworthy in the slow hours that need to be filled.

I crave newness. I long for something to excite me and energize me. I want that thrill of the beginning and the excitement of all that is still to come. Something fresh that I have yet to experience. It is like longing for a first kiss from the one you have been waiting for for so long.

I find that my voraciousness is intimidating and unequaled. I latch onto an idea and want to run with it as fast as I can, but those around me are moving at an almost stagnant pace. They are not looking through my fresh eyes and can not feel my urgency. They can only offer me a small drop of water when I have an oceans worth of thirst.

I don't want to seem too eager. I don't want to be pushy. I don't want to become that annoying person that demands attention and inclusion. Yet this is all I want. I want to stand on a table in the middle of a crowded room and scream at the top of my lungs that I want, no I need all of this now. I want to be Veruca Salt whining for my golden egg, because the tightness in my chest has become a painful distraction that can not be ignored.

I don't scream. I don't whine. I don't misbehave.

Instead I flit aimlessly from one distraction to another hoping that the tiny little shred of newness will be able to tide me over until I find the next. I hope that I can whittle down my attention span so that I will forget how shiny and wonderful one thing was for another so that I do not feel the withdrawal when my budding obsession can not be fulfilled.

Soon faire will start and I will not have time to think. The pressure will slowly alleviate as my days are filled until I am only wishing for a little silence. I will once again take solace in my stolen moments with those constants in my life which can not hold my attention now. Thoughts of new things will seem like folly that would squander my precious minutes away.

Thus is the dichotomy of me. I am not certain there is a cure or even perhaps a balance that can be achieved. I am not certain if I will always slide between starved for time and starved for stimulation. I don't know that it even bothers me anymore really; it just is.

For now I will just breath through the constrictor that is winding its way around me and know that soon it will be chased away by a flurry of wings that will sweep me away into a near terminal whirlwind.