the lack of tempt

Sometimes there isn’t much to say. Fought the urge, last night, to fill the screen up with drunken messages after a long night at the bar with friends. I forget how good it can feel to keep ordering vodka crans until you aren’t sure you can walk yourself home. And the alcohol lessens the sting of saying goodbye to the people I love and respect. So maybe there just isn’t anything interesting to say.
Only that I’m leaving soon.
the transition
and it will take time to get through it.
For it to all be over.
And I think about how many times in my life I’ve wished for that feeling. For that sweet release. For the calm that follows after everything has crashed down on your head and you aren’t even sure you’re still alive – or that you want to be. But there’s the inevitable rebuilding. And that can only be good. Can only lead closer to a reclamation of words like who and what and where.
Maybe I rely too much on definition. Maybe I use too many words, anyway.
Or I look for them too intently. To fall from the mouth of the wrong [anything].
So it’s me that I’m taking along.
For balance and a new way of looking at things.
And it will be better.
For sure.

Only a few more days until my access to the Internet will be limited – but only for a week or two. Then I’ll be back in full force. And I usually find a way to get here, when I can.