This morning is too odd.

This morning is too odd. I’ve had a strange weekend, spurred on by reading and remembering and contemplating and grieving. I’ve been in this strange place of rushing memories of days in Vermilion, reliving experiences of a boy growing up in a small town on Lake Erie. More conflicts between what life at 40 is supposed to be according to societal convention and how I really feel. Feelings of “it’s over,” like this is how someone at my age is supposed to feel, yet I don’t. In many ways I think about the thrill of adventure and discover in much the same way I did when I was 20. I don’t want to lose that, yet at times I feel the battle to remain in that element is about to be lost. I don’t really know who to describe it, but a “youthful disposition” (without imaturity) is the best way I know how to live.
I walked into work this morning, after an odd morning and with breakfast at Dodies, feeling as if everything is so surreal – like walking in the heat of a very hot and hazy August afternoon, slow motion, nothing fit, everything about ready to be lost. I am melancholy today.

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