I can’t say it is laziness. It could be lack of motivation, but I don’t think so. Does it sound like a cop out if I say that life. Just comes at me with such intensity it feels impossible to do any kind of justice to my life.
I drive my life, like I drive my car. Not in control per se. Not in the way the driver’s license division would like. I am not at the controls determining each successive step. Rather I am in the vehicle, I am sitting low, on a leather seat with the seat around me and my hand on the manual shifter, one hand on the wheel, the widow cracked the cool air and the sliver of sun competing for my skins pleasure. My playlist bumps, the audio turned just below max on all three knobs. Cell media volume, stereo, and subwoofer all dialed far beyond remo mended volume. I scale one notch down from max, for prudence sake. I love to feel the vibration of the bass in my chest. I have learned that if I can’t feel the music in my body, I am not gIvins myself or the artists who write, produce and perform it their due. But I digress. I am not the executor of my life in the way that I sense others would recommend. I move through THIS and THAT with my senses turned on but with very li\Le illusion of control.
I am not putting this to words quite right. It’s not coin through. Yet. But roll with me, whoever you are. Because I am that woman who will bring this tangle.into the light and make it clear.
I guarantee that this story is worth the read.
I must figure out how to write it.