Pricks

6 Apr
“This is the end… My only friend, The End.
Can you picture what will be so limitless and free?”

This place, The Cactus Inn, is where my life ended. And a new one begins. I’ve been trapped in this hovel for the last five months, clinging to what little shred of monomanical sanity I’ve had left… Sandwiched, literally, between a highway and the train tracks. In many ways, both are responsible for this hegira. The constant sound of life on the move to the South; the mournful trains’ whistles to the North. These sounds – often in unison – day in and day out awakened a want for more that I’d long since forgotten. It finally dawned on my that I was no longer living. I was merely existing.
And for the first time in at least a decade, that wasn’t good enough anymore.
I want to live again. I want to feel. I want to laugh. I want to sing. I want to dance. Even if it means dancing in the garden in torn sheets in the rain.
It’s so close now that I can feel it.  It’s not even about location or relationships or employment anymore.

It’s about me.

And it’s about time!

“I’m going home to the place where I belong.”
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4 Responses to “Pricks”

  1. Vencora April 6, 2010 at 10:39 am #

    ah, the breathtaking feeling of awakening. i feel i'm going through a similiar process, though, when it started i was afraid of it and didn't know what it was.

  2. Adele April 6, 2010 at 12:23 pm #

    I was nodding my head through this whole essay. Perhaps you needed the prick of the cactus & the wail of the trains to wake you up. I know it's been hell.. .. with each posting, though.. I can feel you coming alive!

  3. MicaelChadwick.com April 6, 2010 at 4:24 pm #

    I think you're right, Adele. I think I needed to bleed it all out before I was able to heal enough to move forward. It's been a journey and I know it's not over yet. Not by a long shot… But at least, now, it's a journey in the proper directions.

  4. Mainland Streel April 11, 2010 at 8:43 am #

    Your writing gives me chills…

    Thank you for putting such honesty out there. It's uncommon, but lovely.

Comments are closed.