Anchoring Point

The night is on its way out and my thoughts are too scattered to be told. It was a fairly regular Saturday for me. Woke up late, did chores, watched a The Hobbit with friends, returned home to catch up on my Bones back log.

Yet for some reason it feels so mechanical right now. As though I'm still living in transit, between homes, between lives... Maybe that's exactly what this restlessness is — the constant sense of missing something vital, that life hasn't really begun and I'm still drifting about without an anchoring point.

I feel this sharp pain everyday if I pause long enough to dwell on it. The constant waiting has been taking its toll. I don't see an end to it anytime soon, if only for the cloud of uncertainly that surrounds our future. It still hurts though, most terribly, knowing that the most important thing in life that I'd hoped would have started two years ago is still just a dream. Life has been kind, don't get me wrong. At least the last nine months have brought such a drastic change in opportunities alone, and the year would look to end on a happy note.

But I miss my anchor, and I hate being strong all the time. Sometimes I just want to be the entitled asshole who gets it all. Or at least, the whiny moron who people, however begrudgingly, still put up with and accommodate. Just not strong. Not the one who doesn't seek out others for comfort, too proud to admit to having feelings. No one cares to help a strong self-reliant person.

It's just a matter of time now, but every day of waiting kills me slowly, and makes me drift further away. No anchor and no horizon in sight.