Frankly, for all my wahooting about how utterly fucking lovely my fucking life is, I must also say that on some winter days I find myself followed by a vague sense of dread – a feeling that something is pending im and I won’t know what until it whomps me. Like maybe my job is about to be pulled out from under me due to my own fantastically audacious ineptitude, or my bank account is going to run dry, or the police . . . fuck, I don’t know. I just feel some days as though something is waiting in the wings for me and will descend on my head and all I’ll be able to say is . . . “I really should have seen that coming.”
Perhaps it is winter. Perhaps it is the antidepressants fucking with me. Perhaps it is . . . the sense that something is slowly grinding on in my soul till one day I will find a hole that will fray from the inside till only tatters are left to go down to the grave with.
It’s like tooth decay, but less painful an ache – and on most days I don’t even know or care or am less aware of what it is that lies inside along the length of my soul’s spine.
I no longer wear a harness on my heart, and my mind aches for it at times, especially when the lather rises and foam gathers along the edge of the saddle for the endless running and running that my mind must do after all that it sees and the desires it needs and for that I don’t trust it because this horse will itself kill in running as it has no more sense than that.
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