Sometimes I’m alright; sometimes I’m not. Some days I’m okay with the adventure, other days I feel like outright panicking.
To tell you the truth, today is a panicky day. It isn’t helped by me feeling a bit poorly - you know, weak chest, sore throat, coughy cough: a cold, basically.
I’m also waiting to hear back from a few people, and once again choosing the most generous explanation as to why everything is stalled. No news from the jobs I’ve applied for, and no forward motion on the house. The silence is unnerving, like the silence you get if both your twin prop engines have failed at twenty thousand feet.
The cold sits on my chest. I can feel it, heavy on the lungs as though there’s permanently a cough brewing. Coughing doesn’t help though; it just gives me a headache.
I don’t know what that twenty-thousand feet silence feels like. I imagine it’s a pinpoint moment of serenity. For the smallest, stillest amount of time, the world is perfectly far away, perfectly quiet, perfectly beneath you. If you could freeze it, capture it, bottle it for just a while longer, you would.
It’s the uncertainty that follows that’s what I don’t particularly like.
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