Inertia Creeps, indeed…

Four days in a row I’ve been to work on time. And for the two years pri­or I haven’t been any­where on time once. I guess I got sick of liv­ing that way, but I for­got how hard it is to change.

Tomor­row I have to get up extra ear­ly so that I can go vote. And I just real­ized that this is what my life will be like for the rest of my life. End­less days of going to work and hav­ing to be places.

Haha­ha! Of course, that’s a good thing. I have an office where peo­ple respect what I do and who I am. Peo­ple who have been there for me and who I’ve been there for. Why would­n’t I want to be there?

Because I’m tired. I’m afraid I’ll fail. I’d rather run away before I fuck up. Of course, that’s my MO of fuck­ing up, is run­ning away.

Just remind­ing myself that I’m tired and scared. It’s OK to be tired and scared. It’s Mon­day and I’ve start­ed a new job. Being tired and scared does­n’t mean I have to be a slave to tired and scared. I’m only human, or only me, what­ev­er that means. And I have every rea­son to show up tomor­row. And it’s not for eter­ni­ty, I only have to show up one day at a time.

It’s so damn hard to let go and rest and let every­thing work itself out. It’s so much eas­i­er to try to place my faith in human pow­ers. I know that does­n’t work though. What I’m look­ing for can­not be found out there.

I let myself slide every day. I cut myself slack. I need to remem­ber that I’m just one drink away from drunk, I’m just one line away from nev­er com­ing back, just one jump away from a Gold­en Gate Bridge sta­tis­tic. If I’m going to be drunk or dead tomor­row, what do I want my last sober day to be like?

God, let me wake in the morn­ing and live the day this way. As fucked up as I’ve got­ten every time I was quit­ting tomor­row, let me live exact­ly that ful­ly present because I’ll be drunk tomor­row. But tomor­row God, just give me one ful­ly present day before you put that drink in my hand.

I want to be who I am; I feel I may be final­ly stretch­ing out of my pro­tec­tive wrap­ping. Some­day maybe I’ll have noth­ing left to fear.