Don’t Read This

Flickr / Steve Snodgrass
Flickr / Steve Snodgrass

More often than not, the first step I take of the day is with my right foot. I don’t particularly mean to; that is, I don’t have have a “fondness” for my right foot. It just happens. Right now, my left leg is perched on a rung on this cold steel table while my right leg is cocked at a 90° angle, coming to rest on the foot of this chair from IKEA. My right foot taps, perhaps in syncopation with the majestic 6/4 time signature of Charles Mingus’ Better Get Hit In Your Soul.

My idea of “health” is running at least five miles a day. The first step on the treadmill is — you guessed it — with my right foot. There’s an incomprehensible simplicity behind why I do this — maybe it’s just that I do actually favor my foot, or rather, it being my dominant side, I will step with my right to emphasize stability, strength, determination, a step towards a new and better me. Occam’s razor states it’s because I’m a righty, I’ll start with my right side. But I like to think of myself as different.

It’s an honest form of habit, you know, the unconscious actions you perform. It reveals a little something about you. But people won’t notice. We take clarity for granted. We take life for granted. We’re lured by the idea of success, but have no idea how to go about actually achieving it.

Some say writing is cathartic. Writing is revealing yourself. Writing, to me, is anxiety-inducing. Writing is letting others glimpse a moment of you when your guard is down. But there are people who’ve been successful revealing themselves through writing. They’re the brave ones.

Writing is an honest form of loneliness, isn’t it? It’s a form that makes you believe you’re alive.

It’s April 1st, and the sun’s just revealed itself, drifting up just beyond a construction site. I can see a silhouette of a crane, reaching out for something, reminiscent of myself, reaching for something intangible — a conclusion. Just how the hell do I end this article? TC mark

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