unlike some people

I am not what I eat.


I am what I think about and the words I throw at the thoughts.


Work.  With spaceships, shuttles and robots (yes, robots - oh my).  With the odd mix of conformity and independence that come with it, because I will never really fit in and I like that.  


Work, with the engineers who swear every 2 minutes, which are absorbed by moods where I humor it and moods where the image of disgust shadows slowly over my rigid face (and I know it and don't care).


Work, with the buzzwords that I put on like a stiff uniform . . .words, reflections of a bureaucracy* that start to chaff and straightjacket my struggling thoughts after awhile.  


Work, with its winging it.  


The word of this two-year working trend has been "output."


Lord help my soul.  But I did love seeing that shuttle move slowly through the night.


There are other thoughts, when they let me and I let myself.


Like the conversations you have with yourself in the car in the morning, when you have too much time to muddledly think.  They are defined by the hypothetical.


Like the threadbare scenarios and motivations that you still can't comprehend, because something in your way of thinking was shattered by their entrance. 


Like the Grand Points you wish you could make.  If you could see the person that you don't want to see.  (Logic — not so much).


Like the conversations that you have in your mind and disappoint you, because they scream that you still haven't healed all the way, still haven't moved on as you should.  That the seed of disappointment and betrayal grew into a tree.  Damn it.


I poke my head around that unholy bush and I perpetually carry my feet around it, trying to find the new road home.  But I'll never get there until I chop down the tree and look away to see the new road.  Still in the distance.  


I "know" that, but I have a hard time believing that.  Still.


The words of this three-year hurting trend have been: "questioning, numb, dulled, defiance."


But other words do come in as well.  Need to come in.


Joy.  Peace.  


Forgiveness (for realsies this time, going biblical).  Patience.  


These happy words hit me like flung bricks, because I know I do not have them organically anymore.  Their existence reminds me I'm failing.  But they need to be there.


They need to be trees.  They need to be thought of.  They need to make themselves cozy in the rooms of my mind and maybe even pour me a cup of comforting tea (ok, so they're not trees anymore in this analogy) when trends 1 and 2 start to  raise their frustrating little heads.  


Two phrases of of this trend: "Duc in altum."


"Moving on."


*Side note: I will die before I will be able to spell that word correctly the first time.