This is it.

I’m heading towards the end of my academic career. (I don’t really have  the grades for grad school and if I did do it, it’ll probably something not so practical…like creative writing). But I don’t know what’s at the end.

I’m heading towards the void.
I’m leaning into the void.
I’m falling into the void.

But I don’t really. Something stops me. I’m at the edge of the void, just leaning into it.

All is still.  I don’t even feel my own breath. Nothingness seeps through the fabric of being as if I’m independent from time, reality and the dimensions that I live in. But don’t belong in.

Sounds, visions and touch begin to appear – muted, faded and vaguely recognizable. Murmurs  Questions. Doubts. Fears. Walls. Lots of walls. I’m flying into walls. All of them. Every single one of them is solid.  Every single one of them hurts when you rocket into one. Every single one of them is disappointing when you walk into one.

I’m leaning into the void as if I’m waiting to fall in. As if I’m waiting to be yanked out of this world. As if the walls could all disappear.

It doesn’t. It won’t.

And I know this.

The people are all arrayed, intoxicated with conformity. They greet, exchange pleasantries and chat about nothing important. Even if the weather is unusually nice, they do not discuss theories on why it is that way, potential drawbacks and predictions for the future. Everyone is bathed in politeness instead of intellect although it is unclear why politeness can trump intellect.  But we’re living in different dimensions. We can see each other, sure. But we do not interact. Our paths do not cross. Yet people somehow still think I’m in their world. But I’m not.

I stand, awkward and confused. Wordless, not knowing what to do or what to say.  Everything I say or write to conform to etiquette feels scripted. Not just scripted, badly scripted. The words clunk along instead of flowing. The words are nice but shallow, meaningless. There is no spark. The words lie lifeless.  (I might add that I hate “beating around the bush” writing…)

I’m an alien from inner space.

With just myself.  No friends.  No profound gifts. Nothing really but me and solitude.

I just wish that I could be really good at something. But it doesn’t seem to the case. I’m tired of having everybody for me. I’m tired of having modifying things  because I suck so very much (it has happened in just about every sport I’ve tried. Yeah, PE was horrid especially when they got an extra team member every time I was up…).

I don’t know what friends are,  so I can’t make an qualified comments on that one. But I do hate those kids shows/stories with “friends are the best things” morals.  No one wants to voluntarily hang out with me regularly at least anyway because why would they?  But friends are probably a waste of time anyway so…I guess it’s okay. I wish I had a non-human friend though. That would be amazing. But it hasn’t worked with horses thus far and I doubt it will anytime soon.  I highly doubt it will happen with a dolphin or whale. That’s just movie territory. But I wish I had something…not that I know what I want. But I’m always looking in. Always feeling inferior. Always feeling that everything is insurmountable. And no one understands or cares or both.

But I’m tired of all this. Tired of being stuck. I feel myself leaning. Leaning into the void, desperately hoping that something (comfortable) will catch me.