for beginnings, for home
What is it when a beginning doesn't want to start? What does it take for a beginning to begin? i keep asking myself this as I send the friday update inquiry messages to my ever-patient (and understanding) real estate agent. i keep trying to find a way for this to be my fault. for the delays to be accounted for as karmic retribution or marked by my lingering, chronic respite in material vices. and then i hear phrases like 'over responsibility' or 'not everything is about you' or 'sometimes it's just life' and i want to reject these phrases, meanings, conclusions. if it remains some sort of penance i must pay then there is a reason. how does one reconcile with the reasonless suffering that has blanketed life. my life. it's just life. and i am not a patient waiter although i may appear as such. the twisting in my stomach tells otherwise. each twist is another question, plea to the universe - why? why is it that i wait for my life to start? why the constraints that keep me celled away. what is it that i have yet to learn, yet to see? i ask, i brood, i toil, i collect/obsess/revile - why is this happening - why 141 days? it seems like nothing and i judge myself for being so emotionally mangled by something so first-world and non-essential as waiting for a home. but maybe i need to cut myself some slack. break. break. break.