jogging on.

Life is so arbitrary, so unquantifiable. I often wonder what I am doing and who the hell I think I am. I find it a difficult question, troubling often. Disturbing occasionally.

I am honest or honestly trying to fake it.
I am sure of myself or sometimes think I am.
I am mature or play mature sometimes.
I don't need people's affirmation or I crave it as quietly as possible.
I am generous or I am careful to let everyone see when I am.
I don't care or I care so much I hurt in my gut where it is dark and hidden.
I don't need answers or I just can't find the ones I'm looking for.

Somehow one foot gets placed in front of the other and the days roll by twenty-four hours at a time. Some part of me thinks eventually the feet will get the rest somewhere worth being, but this is conjecture at best, and those parts of me aren't even really able to articulate what a place worth being would look like. They get confused, sometimes they think they are already there. Not today. Today they stare hard ahead into the foggy future and squint as though they are trying to see what is there when really they are just squinting to try to hold back the tears, to keep anyone from asking why they are crying. Just keep walking, keep putting one foot in front of the other. We'll make it there, where ever "there" is.