Dusty Days

 Somedays, some very occasional dusty days, I feel I need to give in to it. Just succumb to it completely.

Most days though, I am fighting it. I wear a mask, I wash my hands a million times, my allergies remind me to stay away. I am fearful, lazy and an escapist. At best.

I feel constrained in a world that my mind has created and trained to believe that it is beautiful. I don't fit my own idea of beauty and I know I need to update my thinking. And yet the escapist in me happily wastes time building a maze within my mind, to reach the place I know I should be operating from.

From childhood, I have a habit and almost an innate need to preserve my core. There was a time I was definitely ashamed of it, though over the years I may have normalised it in my head, and perhaps added layers to it in a way that part justifies, part rationalises my identity to that hidden core. But there is still some disconnect there, which unless I make my way into the self created maze, I will never manage to connect.

Some days though, I pretend to be so normal, I could fool myself.

To the point where I float just above that layer of vacuum that I have created, below which I know is all dusty.