I wrote this after dealing with insurmountable piles of bullshit today and thinking about whether or not I want to come back next year.
So here I am clinging to the side of a cliff with a cup of burned Maxwell House coffee (powdered creamer) in hand. The dirt (or should I say will to continue) is giving way underneath my shoes and I'm perspiring underneath my parka trying not to tumble down the massive cliff below into a field of comfortable amenities and friends and family.
But, I used to stand on the top of this cold, foreign cliff, proudly, confidently, staring off into the icy sunset with satisfaction and purpose.
Now, as I cling to tiny shrubs with their little roots burrowed gingerly into the disintegrating hillside I wonder how I will ever survive the six more months I have to before a bush airplane comes to save me for good? And, how did the strong permafrost earth crumble so quickly beneath me?
I'm scrambling, and clawing every second for something, anything, to hold on to, or a sign that points towards the possibility of holding on but I can't find anything but crumbling snow, silence, and nobs of tundra moss.
Every time I climb back up to the cliff's edge there is always someone there in bunny boots stepping on my cold, bloody fingers and good intentions. Its like some supernatural force doesn't want me to get back on the cliff. Or even scarier, doesn't want me to "want" to get back on the cliff.
So after a year and a half of fighting against gravity, I'm going to go with it, slowly hopefully.
I realized I don't have to climb back up, I held on for a while, I tried and that was good, it was admirable. I tried real hard, yes I did. But I am strong enough to realize I picked this hill to climb and I don't deserve to cling to the sides of cliffs my whole life (at least if I was clinging with someone that would be comforting), SO I decided I can climb down too.
AND, when I get to the bottom, with its comforts, and acquaintances I won't be afraid, I won't be scared, I will simply accept happiness, even if it is pointy and uncomfortable at first. And if I need to, I will walk to a new hill and climb that one, maybe a steeper one, maybe a scarier one, but I've climbed up this one enough.
This hill is crumbling anyways and if people spent more time shoring up the foundations instead of stepping on the fingers of others then maybe I might hang on a little longer, but for now I'm gonna start climbing down.
And so that concludes my over dramatized metaphor for the day, regardless, it was a sufficiently bad enough day that I actually am relieved by it. It makes my decisions in life a little bit easier when things are so clearly defined. I'm not even upset about it anymore. I'm just simply, done.
I'm going to go home (happily) and make something beautiful, be it dinner, or a song, or a drawing. That shitty little apartment is the only cave of solace I have on this stupid cliff anyways.