It's nearly 2am and I will probably regret this tomorrow but the coke keeps running in my system keeping my mind awake even as I crave rest and the cold sheets are calling with its faithful song. If things go to plan I'll be scuba diving this weekend and for someone who only hit the water 2 weeks ago after an approximate 5 year break, a little bit more than man-eating sharks is on the mind. Water is hardly my "thing." There is no actual excitement at hand, no pent-up desire derived from this other than the practical accumulation of skill and experience. So why bother?
There are enough self-abasing defects for me to harp on if I genuinely wanted to give myself a heart attack. That my feet have low arches is just one from a string I could rattle that go all the way from the common spider vein, jelly-belly and chipped tooth to psychological warfare that personifies as night terrors in the mind. Who can understand or comprehend the horrors any one mind can summon? Who can fill the void of early mornings in the aftermath of chained slumber, when waking brings with it into the new day the memory of loss?
Some cut. Some starve. Some purge. Some eat. Some disengage. Some run themselves to the bone. Some drink. Some burn. Some shop. Some rage. All try to desperately block out the white rush of noise of a saturated world, bored with its own destructive cycle. Maybe the edges that I throw myself toward are my way of beating hidden demons. For now, it is seen as foolishness, as irresponsible, as irrational. One day those edges will become the edge that build rather than destroy. Herodotus said, "It is better by a noble boldness to run the risk of being subject to half the evils we anticipate than to remain in cowardly listlessness for fear of what may happen." One day.
After all that morbid talk, my body is still running, still holding my gut together, still living. Pretty damn amazing.