Laundromat Philosophy

A laundromat excursion devoured the majority of my day today.  I’m not entirely sure it was a good experience either.  Actually, it was the furthest thing from a good experience possible (except for the fact that I now have clean sleeping bags and blankets that are dog throw-up free).

I watched a child zoom his hand-held dump truck through this bucket for hours.  No one seemed to notice.

Cigarette Bucket SP

The clothing and water whirling around inside the washer was mesmerizing.  I brought a book to read.  I had music to listen to.  I could have written emails to people I haven’t had time to respond to.  I could have cleaned my car.  I had articles to read.  I had pen and paper.  But instead, I just sat.  I sat and watched and tried to remember how to breathe.

It’s that time of year where I feel like I need some sort of foundation to fall back on.  Yet, if anything has ever been true in my life, it is the fact that I have never had much of a foundation of any sort.  Everything crumbles.  January rolls around and I pick up the pieces and glue a make-shift foundation together and hope it grows into something real and holds the next time around.

But this year – this year is different.  This year, the depressed thoughts came earlier and even more importantly, they un-pressed themselves and unleashed themselves in a fury unmatched by anything I’ve felt before.  It’s as if someone took a shovel to the temple of dead memories I have buried over the past 9 years and in the process allowed for the ghosts to reek havoc.  And today, at the laundromat, all of the tiny bodies came knocking at my door; each of them with thoughts to share.

Laundry SP

Watching the clothes spin, around and around and around and around and around, made me question everything in my life.  Watching the people at the laundromat made me question my existence and the existence of human beings. Good thing I took philosophy in college eh?  I thought of Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am”.  And at the end of the day, my own conclusion:

“I exist.”

But to what extent do I exist?  Existing has nothing to do with positivism or negativity… it just is.  I just am.  And right now, existing is fucking hard.

I so desperately want to feel okay right now.  But how can I hold myself up when these hands cannot even hold air anymore.  Sure – I’ve shared my feelings with a few close people in my life, but I don’t think I have been honest about the gravity of what is really going on.  I’m more than just a professional when it comes to being vague about specifics.

Thursday night I will be leaving for the Utah desert to go climbing for 10 days.  The desert is a place I can center myself and breathe.  And maybe, just maybe, I can start over (again) when I get back.  I just need to make it for just a little bit longer.

“And I drove three more days towards the desert where I threw in my hands and I fell down to my knees.”
-Santa Fe by The Washover Fans

© /skin/ /ˈpōətrē/


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