unplug

sometimes you wake up late on a morning you'd originally planned to wake up early. sometimes you miss the breakfast you'd planned on joining. sometimes it's a struggle to just go out beyond the door. sometimes it's the last thing you want to do any work. sometimes it takes every ounce of energy you have to talk to someone, or even look them in the eye.

you're tired even though you know you shouldn't be tired. you're sore even though you know you shouldn't be sore. you're heavy even though you know you shouldn't be heavy. you're depressed, you're irritable, you're sick, you're worn out.

and no matter what your years, it feels like you've had an infinite of mileage over road that was not pleasant under conditions that were not kind in ways that were not good.

and whatever law of averages supposedly exists, it did not apply with the highest highs to smooth out the lowest lows, leaving instead a torpor of a morass of a quagmire of a swamp of a cesspool of a mudpit of a big black gaping hole that is your daily routine and your daily state of soul: empty. exhausted. dispirited. and, above all, dead.

and so you're awake (not really) staring at a cup of coffee (not strong) contemplating the day (not bright) and through the haze and fog and obscurity of your senses (not right) and your mind (not here) and your life (just going through the motions) descending invariably, inevitably, helplessly to just one thought:

you need a break.

and not just a vacation.

a break.

from everything and everyone and anything and anyone and something and someone that's made your life a load grown beyond large to outright leviathan.

which is where i am.

on a vacation.

but realizing that it's not enough and that i really need a break.

even if only for a little while.

and so i'm going to take some time to just unplug.

from life.

or at least, as i know it.

i'll see you in a few days. possibly weeks. hopefully not months. definitely not years.