autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Meh-lancholy, baby

Late spring fever or perhaps cabin fever, but I feel as if I need to bust out of the routine. Alas, the routine is keeping life moving smoothly… So there are layers of prohibition in the way that irks the bridled spontaneity of me.

I think of the passport and summer and dream of lands I have not yet seen; so many of them. I still dream of wandering ruins and places imbued with history and culture on a scale this country has not yet aged enough to find. I say (with the usual sigh), “Someday…” and it feels sadder than it did; I think the notion of age is finally weighing on me a bit. Perhaps it is the recurrent cracks and pops of joints along with the constant watchfulness of numbers and diet that brings the sense of time and the sibilant, imagined sound of rushing sand so clearly to mind.

I feel restless. I know this feeling of old as a precursor of change of some moderate to heavy manner.. But I could not say what, how, why, or when. Just that feeling of impending shift that means things are going to be “interesting” again…and soon.

A bit of a “meh” sense, hence the title.

Just noting it, really, nothing more for now.