collateral

And now we come to this, disgruntled at the rainbows end, and it’s no pot of gold I find myself gazing at, but the reflection of an overweight, middle aged man whose former life lies behind him. Not because of some monumental change, nothing’s happened that would cause anyone to feel awkward, or attempt a miss queued hug. It’s simply because the hour has struck. Just another increment of time, and yet, I am no longer there, I am here. This is my life now and I’m having a little trouble getting used to it.
I was a great doer of things. I have spent my whole, former life, doing and suddenly... tick tock. It’s over. Doing has become meaningless. And given that doing is dead and I haven’t developed any other modus operandi, I must sit and cogitate. I used to see each day as a unit in which to undertake a task that would give me something that one day would let me enjoy life. R.I.P

So I’m waiting for the tide to come in and by that time I will hopefully have learnt to navigate whatever new craft it brings me. Or perhaps it won’t be a craft. What if it’s armbands, or a blow-up mattress? You shouldn’t go to sea on those, it’s dangerous. Well, that’s that metaphor sunk, that’s what comes of thinking too much. I should get up and do something.