an imaginary, unrecorded story

i haven’t intentionally worn white for well over half a year, but i wore it tonight. there’s a type of mystification around this occurrence of brightness, since i don’t yet understand what it means. but it feels like some decisive point in a battle.

i’ve been looking forward to, and dreading, writing this tonight. of course, it’s an electrifying exercise to type like Jack Kerouac, but there’s a certain commitment to publishing a work. whether it’s widespread or contained within a family circle, it’s now outside of my own fences.

the stress probably arises from this pressure to produce significance. after saying that, however, this sounds like a privileged problem. picture a well-off, middle-class teenager sweating before an exam in school. what a demanding life it must be to concentrate in temperature-controlled rooms, study new concepts, and script out challenging menus with assortments of homework.

where is the physical challenge? in my exercise routine? when’s the last time i felt hunger pains?

while i promote love and positivity, i believe in exiting a comfort zone and exploring new horizons. sometimes, that jumps higher on the to-do list. we, as primates, have the flexibility to adapt to unfavorable consequences. additionally, we have the ability to recognize a better way and embark after it.

i’ve come to realize i prefer intentional conversation over a gathering. the former is commitment, adventure, and education. the latter is entertainment and movement. both serve their separate masters, who order them around with death threats and assaults.

yet i experience guilt when i listen to old music. so are the parties archaic while the stimulating verbal trade is modern?

i’ve tugged the selfish surges of expression, but i’ve long been restrained from interacting with our universe. social anxiety, depression, bipolar, and now ADHD are on my health insurance. not to complain, but to provide context for possible reasons explaining isolation and raised walls.

if i do like to rouse a pity party, it’s not for the sympathy; i aim an honest release of emotion. i want it to be analytical and logical to all, except those who realize familiarity. that would be empathy, which emphasizes growth in place of consolation. i approve.

the simplest relations and dispersed talks can reveal the strangest testimonials. it’s a natural reaction for us to perk up when we realize we’re not alone on the planet. in some sense, that reminder chimes consistently when we communicate, in whichever mode, with other people.

so as i spent a large majority of this day alone, i sense an unruly, harmonic prepubescent spray painting my clean surfaces and lighting fire to the soft carpet decorated with the brown of the redwoods. maybe if i had committed more to a life outside my own, i’d be relieved of a pain more persistent than a migraine. but, like that aching monster of a headache, the fire trucks are far away. it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

but the suffering ends when i drift off to an imaginary, unrecorded story.

– D K T


life ends. why pretend

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