Life Is Elsewhere *

(* my apology for stealing your title, Milan Kundera)
July reeled me into a mad work propeller that at times I feel like a sedated tarsier flung into a cosmic time warp. What an insane ride! Infernal deadlines, multiple stress levels, assorted disappointments, emotional downers all contributed to a psychological state which would make Hannibal Lecter look laughably mild. Conversely, there are many extraordinary moments that make me want to burst into the chorus line of a ghastly Mary Poppins song but let’s not go into there. Overdosing on peaches and sunshine isn’t my preferred aphrodisiac. Though, admittedly, I don’t subscribe to the I-Am-So-Fucking-Miserable-I-Wanna-Die school of thought either.

Despite gargling tension for breakfast this past month it somehow sounds peculiar that I managed to not become an antisocial freak. I fear I even maxxed out on my social engagements quota. If any of my colleagues or pseudofriends suggests another function to attend I’d launch into projectile vomiting.The Piedra-Alchemy-Warehouse135 circuit still thunders but sometimes I just want to detach myself from all the rowdy civilized chaos and rake circular patterns on fine sand and stare at potted bonsais till my retinas fall off their sockets.

As the month closes I am looking ahead to the August sunup with great hopefulness and abundant anticipation. I know I shouldn’t, so as not to jinx anything in the process but I cannot help it. Despite the bleakness of things I’d like to flatter myself into thinking that I am insanely affirmative. Sure, it’s unrealistic to a certain degree but dreams fuel our existence. It endows us with a certain purpose. It strengthens our faith and reinforces our deep need for the Almighty God’s divine providence. It makes jumping out of bed less tedious and sculling through slow days bearable.

August will mark a particular departure. And the revival of the much-delayed, long-detoured aspiration. This may seem vague but it’s deeply personal goal that is finally waking up to the promise of a new day.

So now, like many instances in the past, I once again stand in a turnpike. This time however I am not racked with decision paralysis. This time around I am buoyant, my lungs welling with possibilities in pursuit of fresh experiments and creative pursuits. Permutations of anxieties and frights crackle in my wake. I don’t want to look back.

This is not the reigning moment of nostalgia. This is the reincarnation of optimism.