Blah

Blah.

I just feel blah.

Usually, I only write in moments in great epiphanies or sparks of marvellous inspiration, but right now, in this very moment, I feel blah.

Insignificant. How much does this all really matter? Me writing these very words doesn’t matter, nor does you reading them.

For I am tiny and nothing. You are the same.

I know this repetitive existential dilemma is a symptom of the human experience.

But I wish it would pass.

Lethargy. Doom.

Spiralling headfirst into Gloom.

Wasting my days away on zoom.

Watching the all-consuming nothingness loom.

As if my observations do anything at all.

I put chunky hoops in my ears and look into a reflective surface, any reflective surface. Expectantly.

As if they will replicate a warm hug or the thrill of purpose.

Their luminescent gold almost teases me.

Why couldn’t I be you?

Yes! To be a rock! A nugget of gold or a hunk of amethyst. To have an unknown reason for existing yet to be completely at peace with it. To simply beautify this planet and be completely content with it. To not feel overwhelming guilt for sitting still. Shining! Shimmery! Splendid!

Oh! To be a rock.

I want to drive. I want to.

But I feel like I’ll never outgrow this odd complex I have,

I feel 5 and

Simultaneously 60.

What if I don’t end up living? Truly living? What if I rot away in fear and inaction

Exactly like I am right now.

I don’t even know what it means to live.

Barefoot. I need to walk barefoot.

I need to feel discomfort and I need to feel grip. To be in a long loose cotton dress and walk alone an unpaved path for a couple of hours. To have the breeze stroke my hair and the sun kiss my cheeks.

I just need to remember what it is to feel.

I wish I would understand! I wish I would understand that cleaning the bathroom will not bring me joy. Baking brownies will not bring me joy. Doing my hair will not bring me joy. I will bring joy when I choose.

But maybe I don’t want joy.

Maybe I want to feel anger! For the warmth and movement it brings.

Or sadness. For the silence and decadent release it brings.

Or helplessness. For the stillness and 'being the little spoon' vibe it brings

Maybe I don’t want to feel constant bliss, or joy or purpose.

Or maybe,

I’ve forgotten what they are.