2 Minutes. Go!

They won't let you move. Won't let you leave. They say you are free to go at anytime, but nobody believes it. Everyone who tries disappears. And I mean disappears. They are gone, their cars are gone, their houses are empty...no one ever speaks of them again.

You can try to make the best of it. That's all you can do, so you do it, but it feels hollow and empty. It makes you depressed. It makes you want to leave. 

The evenings are the hardest. There is no boss to appease. There is no structure. The evenings and the weekends make you feel lost and scared. Alone. You grit your teeth, and wait for the time to pass. Wait for the alarm that tells you it is time to be productive. 

There is nothing worse than being unproductive. It is the cardinal sin which no one wants to face. No one even talks about being unproductive, even if they clearly accomplish nothing. Appearances are important. Never forget that. 

If you do a good enough job of being productive in your work hours and invisible in your free-time, there can be a kind of freedom, but it is fleeting. Still, it is the closest you will ever get. 

Enjoy it.

2 Minutes. Go!

There is no sound from the old wooden shed, but there is a presence. You can feel it. It is sticky and unsettling. When the wind blows, the feeling changes, but it always comes back. It makes you feel frantic, but it is merely the cost of being in the back woods. Momma had always said to stay away, and maybe she had a reason.

There were so many things in the woods and the town that the people didn't like to talk about. It was a conspicuous absence since stories were the way they entertained each other. The lack of ghost stories just made the ghosts stronger, but not strong enough to keep you away. 

Maybe they were sirens. There was an almost gravitational pull when you got close enough to the shed. Sometimes, you tried to test your toughness by creeping as close as possible. Other times, the discomfort was too strong. 

On the day you disappeared, no one thought to look by the shed. Not for days. Everyone knew not to go down there, and most people couldn't be dragged there by oxen. They looked everywhere else first, and when they finally thought to check by the shed, bones and scraps of He-Man t-shirt were all they found. 

No one would ever tell the story. It hurt them, but they never spoke of you again.

2 Minutes. Go!

Small birds can sit on tiny branches. They are almost weightless. Soft, light feathers over hollow bones. There is a magic to it. They can be fierce, honoring their dinosaur forefathers, but they can also be kin to dust motes. They can float and hang in the air; they can use the wind to their advantage. 

The ravens outside my apartment can't sit on tiny branches. They are not light on their feet. No dust motes, the ravens. They are big and loud and they can be hell to deal with if you piss them off. Never look sideways at a magpie, a raven, a crow. They know things you will never know. 

I can't sit on small branches, and I don't have the dark magic that the ravens wield. We humans are heavy creatures, clumsy. Even the most astounding of us can't compete with most animals. We are neither strong nor fast nor blessed with razor teeth. 

We are smart, and that is enough. Even the dumbest of us can compete with most animals. Maybe not the ravens, though. 

Our brains are special. They give us the ability to destroy ourselves and take everything else with us.

2 Minutes! Go!

It was always like this, and it will always be like this. Until there is nothing anymore. Which may be any day now. I don't care that much. I'm barely invested. I'm keeping my options open. Maybe global warming will be a blast. Maybe it won't. Gonna be interesting, for sure. 

Nothing changes; people are people. We used to be people hunting and gathering. Then, we were farmers and hunters. Now, we are cogs. Same deal. Just trying to not die. There are a lot of ways to do it. Keep doing it, otherwise you have nothing to worry about anymore. 

Don't let the whole thing get you down. That's the main thing. You just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep on cogging. Keep your nose to the grindstone. Someday, they'll let you trade in your life savings for a slightly less painful death. 

If that ain't motivation, I don't know what is. 

Nothing ever changes. Tell that to the icebergs. Tell that to the poor penguins. They're just doing their thing, too. We all are. Stumbling onward, ever forward.