It'll come on suddenly, maybe after the morning meeting. I can see it probably being a Tuesday, mid-October seems likely.
Surely no one will expect a strange outburst from me.
I might not even be wearing a Tuesday Teal work-shirt. I might switch things up and wear Muddy Monday Brown.
Flip the script all together.
Spontaneity is wild like that.
I'll start telling myself now about this upcoming spontaneous day; I need time to prepare. I'd rather not catch myself unaware. I'm not great with changes to my routine.
I recently had an emotional outburst.
This picture doesn't pertain to the writing.
It just makes me feel better.
It looks like they're holding hands.
I fucking hate emotions.
Moving really shook my jar a little.
Rattled my jam.
Not the physical actual labor of moving, that bothered me none at all. The fluidity in which I can relocate an entire household is an absolute vision of mastery. It's almost as if I pack and move boxes like an organized professional.
No, I won't help you move.
It's the newness of new things that has me feeling new. More aptly: I need a definitive idea of what in the fuck is going on before I can proceed. But the development of a new routine takes time; and in the interim, there is no fucking routine. And a lack of a clear plan has put a loop in my brain.
And here I am, loop in my brain just fucking whirling, while one new thing after another swirls by and pushes around and lands on top of my face. The black and white constantly blending to grey.
Life just muddled as fuck.
I think people call these "growing pains." The problem is that I've been 4'11" since seventh grade, and the closer I get to forty, the less likely that I'm going to hit any kind of late bloom. And all things considered, I think I'm adjusting as well as any parent could to their only child graduating high school and becoming an adult.
I bought a yellow key.
I'm not saying that this is the only contributing factor to my current state of disarray; but I do blame it solely on that.
I'm not going to let this one get the better of me. Not this time. I'm carrying the yellow key. I'm okay with just getting coffee wherever. I'm embracing the thought of unplanned shenanigans.
Well, I am now.
I just had to get used to the idea.
I'm still getting used to the idea.
The yellow key makes me look at things differently.
That's not accurate.
The yellow key is just a yellow key. It comes into the story as nothing more than a yellow key. It just so happens to be new, and on a keychain that is often in my hand. And I tend to look at my hands during conversations in which I am uncomfortable. Which is all conversations.
I stare at the yellow key with fifty million things racing through my mind. I stare at the yellow key and I don't say a word. I jingle it to a rhythm only I can hear, and I let my head find a melody.
The yellow key gives me a distraction, a moment to find the groove for my speeding thoughts. It pauses the race just long enough to give penalty flags time to fly when my mouth opens.
I recently had an emotional outburst.
I felt bad.
And I cried.
At the same time.
A disheveled mess of feeling, dumped out unexpectedly. Oh sure, I saw the build-up when I looked back. But I just never figure that emotions can catch me if I keep moving.
That's why I'm always ready to walk away.
Keys in hand.
October 18th, I figure.
If you guys want to plan something spontaneous too.
