I am beginning to itch…it’s not a stranger to me. I know the beginnings. It starts with contentment, the very contentment causes discontentment.
It slowly creeps up my leg and messes with my head. I wait and watch…and wait and watch. But nothing out of the ordinary happens. No new challenge, obsession or curiosity comes around. No new troubles.
A sense of irritation starts to develop…things dull out, lose colour. Friends seem alien and unavailable. It’s me and the dry road…and I am not even travelling on it.
Nothing inspires me. I am unable to jump into the lives of the characters in the movies I watch. I invite delays, road jams, wrong meters, losing money and getting late... I’m no longer on top of things.
I am putting on weight…clothes don’t fit and in the last three weeks I am dressing to hide. Skirts, loose tops and jeans. I have morbid thoughts of turning into a sumo wrestler in my 40ies…unable to get into my brother’s car.
I do good work…in the last 2 weeks not because I want to but at times because I have to. I have become easy… at times cheat on myself. I think I am getting soft…and that scares me.
I am delaying my pleasure to avoid all fears. And the delay has become status quo in many things…I am getting comfortable in the delay.
I know I have to get out…but I am waiting for the water to go over.
I know what it is. I know what I have to do. But like sweet pain I keep poking it and feeling it but not healing it.
I have to go to the hills. Soon.