Changing Dimensions

Time to run away?

Where to go and what to say

Ticking gets louder.

A ravaging discontent descended or perhaps ascended or better just landed. It felt heavy, weighty across the shoulders, although not to be measured in pounds. Still, it had heft and I staggered under its embrace. A clashing of me’s ensued. The logical, rational, reasonable me versus the dreamer, the schemer, the romantic. I now realize the battle has been waged for years, not a war, more regular skirmishes with no accord in sight. Enough! Battleground chatter matters not. What does matter is the “same” morphs into new iterations of the “same” and that’s insane. Perhaps change for the sake of change is a good thing, the only thing. Who said that was a bad thing in the first place? Some intransigent malcontent trying to pretend to be content? My mother loves to tell the same jokes all the time, given her limited repertoire, perhaps she hopes that I can’t remember the punch line. A favorite is, “What’s the difference between a rut and a grave?” She takes great delight in delivering the answer, “the dimensions”. It’s true, the dimensions make an impact but change, perhaps changing dimensions makes a bigger impact. I feel crowded, the rooms are closing in on me, the dimensions are painting me into a corner. I need a big sky, an open field, a giant breath of fresh air. Big dimensions, big change.