i'll let you know when i get there

It's no surprise that life surprises. It's the one thing we can know. Maybe the only true true thing is to hold it all loosely. To let go but not to drop. To let it rest while it will- stop when it stops. Don't ask more of your hand than what it can. Don't make yourself smaller with a closed scared fist. lines on the map of an upturned palm whatever falls, don't resist

It almost sounds cute like something to squish or at the very least, poetic. Instead, I can barely move out from under the heavy  nothing

I want you to know that I have grown used to the lines by my eyes. They are mine. When I see them now, I do not startle.   Recognition. I want you to know that the robots let me go. I tried to call The New Yorker to bargain down my subscription renewal. Instead, I was greeted with a robot voice. Instead of connecting me with a human representative, it cancelled my subscription and ended the call. Goodbye. I want you to know that it can flip like a switch. Topics that consume so much energy, anticipation, intrigue... all the bigs, at any moment, can become nearly repulsive.  I do not want to hear one more word about it. Unsubscribe from the podcasts. Close the blinds. Cancel the library holds. And all that rejection leaves a massive nothing and a dull ache in its wake.  Filled in the rabbit hole. Staring at dirt.  Next. I want you to know that the past doesn't hold me with much of a grip. I remember some things in flashes, but mostly the fog has settled in. Large stre...