The Groundhog Life


Last year, I was told by quite a few folks that I do too much working and not enough living. Their observations were correct; the sad part is I'm not motivated or driven by the career I've chosen in as much as the fear of being homeless...again. 

Every morning when I awake, those memories of living with nothingness pull me out of bed and tug me through the day. It's that quiet fear which sometimes roars so loudly, I can do a seventy-hour work week without blinking; be a leader responsible for everything except my own happiness. To be honest, I don't even know what happiness is anymore; days blur together so succinctly that my adult life has turned into one big ass Groundhog Day.

Work. Be Responsible for Others. Pay bills. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

I hear tell of free will and making better choices to move towards true happiness but what if those choices aren't appealing anymore? What if this man made reality and all the false splendor accompanying it has lost its luster...for good? 


I once thought writing was going to take me to every place I ever dreamed of; fill the empty that love, sex or money couldn't. When I think of it, the only thing that has really given me life is fear. Not purpose, not passion...fear. It has been a bed fellow for many moons, shining brightest at 3AM; it has destroyed hope and made me a creative cynic. It is the one constant spitting in the face of change.
 

Even as I’ve spent a whole year putting together poetry for my first full length book, I've been so fearful of being honest about memories, pain and loss, stacks of started poems lie unfinished mirroring the limbo which is currently my existence.

I guess a concrete mattress doesn’t have a profound way of waking one up.

Something’s gotta give repeats over and over day after day doing battle against fear and its mighty arsenal. 


When I get to work, I smile, answer emails, prepare for morning meetings and be the boss everybody expects me to be making sure my eyes hide the war within.



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