Brain Spews

3-8-12

I think I jump around from journal to journal in a half-cocked attempt to obfuscate the chronology of my brain spews.

Broken free from the church pews,
I’m helpless to stop these brain spews
From taking over my everyday clues.

I’ve found a little spot of comfort, the corner of a Wendy’s restaurant. A small two-seater table pressed up against the wall with all of the windows.

I guess I’m just wondering how long all of this back and forth is going to go on - but more importantly, what does it mean? Why is it that my focus gets derailed so easily (and so constantly)? Is it just because I focus more on the day to day, or because there’s a part of me that rails against the plans I’ve (tentatively) made?

Maybe it’s just a matter of balance. Yes, I can hold a steady nine to five and wear cardigans and plan a wedding one handedly and enroll in IRAs and all of those niceties... but in order for that to happen I need to be able to smoke a blunt and take some shots and drift into oblivion. I need to be irresponsible and lose my license and let the laundry go untended.

I’m sure that, as I grow older, the meaning of “balance” will shift as it has already many times over.

There are two forces constantly fighting for control of my existence, always shoving the other out of the way.
There is my drive to be an exemplary and successful young working married woman, headed for home ownership and child-rearing and laundry and SUVs...
and then there is my drive apparently to be some sort of anarchist punk... or something like that. Multicolored mohawks and hazy rooms filled with smoke and a bass system that rattles its way through your entire being... This is the voice that says “all of this is fucked, so fuck it.”

And then, in the middle, is me.
Whatever that means.

Sometimes I can feel an uprising of anger caught in my throat (caught. because I am far too nonconfrontational to ever unleash it upon the world) and I can’t help but wonder what it is. Where does it come from? I’m not angry at my own life anymore, like I was as a teenager.

Maybe I’m angry at all life. I’m angry that I have to feel so personally divided and I’m angry that there will always be a struggle of some sort (nothing is ever easy) - I’m angry that I am allowed to feel petty things such as boredom and butt hurt when overall my life is pretty damn awesome, and I’m angry that I am mandated to feel guilt when I can’t stop the influx of petty into my life.

Maybe I’m angry that I have such a white-knuckled grip on a simulacra, on shit that never even existed.