1 023. Cat

1 023. Cat

I was living like a stray cat the two years that followed. I would slide inside any door that opened for me, excitedly examine the place corner to corner, floor to roof and finally when I got bored I would simply wait for an exit to open and slide out as effortlessly as I went in. Good byes didn’t bother me much, except for the social awkwardness of not feeling any kind of regret or sadness for parting. It was simply woven into the fabric of events. The only thing we could know for sure at the beginning of a meeting, is that we would eventually have to part. Some people liked to save all the emotional outlet until the very end. I wasn’t one of those people. I think for me, the perfect time was somewhere around the middle - or rather first part of the end, so about two thirds in. If I was very fond of the person, it would just be a constant stream of affection overflowing them. If I was to meet myself, I think I’d rather be one of the people I cared for rather than one that I adored. I can’t imagine the latter one being easy to handle, even if the feelings are returned. I pitied my muses, the ones that for very vague reasons got me fired up like nothing else. As much as I tried to hold back, I always ended up writing lines after lines to or for them, when I picked up a pen and tried to draw I always ended up drawing a portrait or something else connected to them. You see, I rarely get excited about people. I had a childlike excitement that could wash over me repeatedly several times per day if I let it, but that is different from the excitement I’m talking about here. The other one is a more profound. It’s a emotion that runs far down to the depths of my soul, spreading like cracks in glaciers. Whenever something like that is set in motion I feel a chill of fear going trough my body. Knowing myself, I know I will most likely change beyond recognition during and long after this meeting. I will dissemble, drift apart, reconnect and form something new. And of course, I loved the shit out of every minute of these meetings. As painful as it was, I really think I needed it. Searching for some kind of stability in this turbulent life of mine is a daunting task, and sometimes I resort to holding on to habits. I don’t necessarily believe in dividing habits into good and bad, the good ones can be just as bad if they put me in a pattern and make me closed up to change. The only pattern I believe in is change. So what I’m trying to say here, is that if it wasn’t for the meetings with my muses, I might not have – most likely not – been where I am today. ‘What so special about the place you are today’, you could say. And I would tell you, theres nothing special about it at all. In fact there are few places you can go that don’t have a wast number of factors that connect them to all other places and make them especially unspecial. However, where I am today is a different place from where I was a month ago. That’s all that matters to me. You could send me to the smallest hick town with one shop and one pizzeria and I’d still find things to get excited about. I would find a crack in the wall and study it intensely. Drawing it in different styles, put my finger in it, write a story about it. I would find ways to keep myself entertained until I decided it was time to leave. It wasn’t everytime that I managed to be in synch with the changes. Sometimes I’d get prematurely restless and forcibly eject myself of the situation. Sometimes I’d get too comfortable and, honestly, scared out of my wits of what’s to come. Both created some form of chaos and would set me back mentally and materialistically.