I am rudderless

okay, the clock ticks, the waves crash, the grass grows, and still, mixed metaphors and all, what it all about. I also wonder why a distinct desire to carpe diem results in nothing more than a loss of a few pounds. Will it come? Will I go get it?

Epiphany?

This must be a 50s thing, when you can first start to feel the winding down. I crave empty space indoors and an ocean outside. Walking this past vacation along the water, I understood that, if I lived by the ocean, I wouldn't need therapy. Notice I don't go so far as to say I wouldn't need medicine. And if I had the 100 possessions with which the new sparists live, I would find peace. What do the ocean and empty space do for me?

Ocean - remember being stoned and sitting out on the rocks in Bar Harbor or thereabouts. I had this distinct thought that, if I couldn't marry someone, I'd marry the ocean. Still not married. The ocean washes in the treasures -- shells. odd creatures (witness the Portugal Man of War!!!) - stones - I pick them up, dead or alive. I secret them in my pockets. I spill them out, sand and all, and organize them: stones by color; miscellaneous shells by type and, of course, "cigar" shells by size. The accumulation feeds me. Perhaps, I just don't want them inside because:

Open Space - ah, the restfulness of walking from the bed to the door, in the dark, without tripping over anything. The peace I find in the absence of a junk drawer. The whitewashed antique-y photos of trendy rustic bedrooms all in white an natural. Like clothes, I think I just need a few good things.

So, you see the tensions. I am not by an ocean. Nonetheless, I like to collect. I collect and I don't throw out easily. So. bye bye little epiphany. I am living in a hopeless chaos, for now, for now. Don't forget, I can still change everything. Really?