“I could follow you and search the rubble,
or stay right here and save myself some trouble,
or try to keep myself from seeing double.
Or, I could make a killing.”
Being alive is such a jangly reality. All of us, each of us, we are so full of addictions and habits, even when we don’t acknowledge them, even when our habits are socially acceptable, even if they are what we call personality flaws, we are full of them. Here we are, each of us full of these holes, coming together, leaking out through the edges.
I am beginning to see the big bright light in my tunnel of existence. I see the street signs, the markings, and I crawl on my hands and knees, searching, peeling back the layers, sifting through the dirt and decay. And, still I just stand here more confused. I really rarely have a clue as to who I am, what I truly want, and where it is I am supposed to go.
I just wake up every morning, follow these set rituals that I put in place for who knows why, indulge in my own force of habit(s), smile, laugh, and go through so many of the obligatory motions; travel through the day and the time, blindly just moving forward. Or is it backward? Am I even moving at all?
I have all this desire in me, all this passion that seems to flood my mind, my thoughts, my “who I am“. Some days I am just at a loss. Where did this all come from, and what on earth do I do with all of this? Do I just keep going blindly? Lifting the patches off my eyes on occasion, trying to spill all the words and thoughts onto a page? a computer screen? To you, or you, or who exactly? The reader, the writer, the invisible ether of nothing and everything, invisible souls touching, or not touching, am I ever really seen at all?
Are we all just killing each day off, one by one, tick-tick-ticking the time away until the comic book style “kablam” hits, and it is all gone?
You Could Make a Killing :: Aimee Mann