I've known a few dirty floors in my time.
This one though, technically belongs to me, as long as I keep paying for it. And seeing as I am about to stop paying, I'm about to give up ownership.
The dirt though, that's still mine.
And it's all that remains of the structure of that space, mapping out where things were, how it all pieced together. This little fort we built against the outside world. Back when it was "them" against "us", before I became "one of them" too. And "they" became...well, better than me somehow.
I've got to clean this floor, and I will. I'll come back to it, but not today. Today I evacuated town, packed up and shipped out.
And I was amazed at how little emotion that took.
Not because I'm heartless. But because that heart has been chipped away at for so long. Like a toilet wall in Detroit I remember, in a veterans bar. "Dirtiest toilet in America" the bartender proudly proclaims, talking about all the multitude of things that have been flung against it over the decades, and never cleaned off.
The walls of my heart have had so many doubts and insults thrown at them, that's pretty much what they look like. Changed minds, storms, confusing things. That's when the door isn't nailed shut.
It's not good to have a toilet for a heart. Take it from me.
But when it all came down, and I was read my rights, I felt a sense of calm descend. No more use for fighting, for shouting out all the reasons why I actually care. They all got returned to sender.
So I'm calm, as the police take me down, I'm calm in the cells, I sleep like a newborn...dreamless, and for about 2 hours.
And I'm calm when I get on the vessel to work, and again on the way back. And even when I walk into our fort and I see that person who used to be my compadre. I guess I got my calm back.
Calm, despite the strain tattooed on my face. I can feel it down deep. In the dark corners of my machine.
And even though I cried for the next few days, it was in a calm way. I accept how it is, I saw it coming for months. I guess I just hoped for a fork in the road, to take us somewhere better.
And so I packed up my life again, and put it in a truck again, and sent it off to the next place again.
And now I lay my head on a motel bed, sound of the highway in the distance, strange surroundings, new loneliness bubbling up.
But I accept it all...I've been here before, even though I have never been here.
This is the space we people go, to look at dusty patterns on floors, to mourn the death of what was a wonderful beast at times, to look at the horizon and resign ourselves to go looking for whatever is beyond it.
I ran into a fellow traveller, off to the side of the road. Their life had broken down, and they were out of ideas, scratching his head, looking at the steam and the fire. He was sold on the idea of getting out altogether, cashing in his winnings, checking out, you know.
And my burden was already so heavy I just clapped him on the back and wished him well, knowing I can't carry him or his burned out life right now.
I hope he lives, hope he finds a map with a place on it that piques his interest, Hope life sends him a spark in his sleep, and it warms up the cold parts so when he awakes he can keep pushing long enough to find a road that goes somewhere.
I found a road of my own, seems solid enough. No idea what's at the other end, but then, that's part of why I like this one so much.
I know what's behind me, and I don't like that. Maybe not knowing what's ahead will taste better, maybe it will leave me rested.
My heart beats solo, no other warmth next to me in my sleeping bag.
Strange and new.
The sun is on its way up...and that's not something I want to take for granted any more.
I'm heading right for it.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
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