Atlas

Desperately, I want to write something – get off this hamster wheel of a routine I’ve cut out for myself recently. I simply just don’t know where to start. I have much locked inside, but lack a vent to express it. Right now, I suppose I can say that I’m annoyed with my living arrangement and how spoiled my house-mate’s dog is; horrified about the socioeconomic/political/cultural, etc. state of the planet; in perpetual lamentation over my limping love life. It would be a goddam treat if it ended there, but I’m engaged in a mental “hand-wringing” about being a good parent; what to do for my kid as the state where we live continues to blow it in every nationwide poll and study, and how not to get entangled with my ex’s woes while maintaining a modicum of compassion. And, somewhere, at the apex of my internal torment, is my obsession for physical and mental well-being as I attempt to balance a career that is taking off…and to get my ukelele to stop staring at me.

I’m feel pinned, struggling to find the elbow room, a release.