the wheel

After so long of this one-foot-in-front-of-the-other step-stepping, I look up to check in with my surroundings.

Like a hampster running contantly on a squeeky wheel, I just keep going and going and going; not aware that I am keeping everyone up with my perpetual motion; not aware that I am putting myself to sleep...

I look around confused.

Because lately I am not sure which direction is forward; which sentiments are nice; or what feels good. I'm not sure if I am meditating or falling to sleep; if you are making love to me or breaking up with me.

The letters feel completely jumbled in my head and I can't even seem to write complete words in the correct order. When I do manage to correctly scratch out a word in my roughly serial killer-esque chicken scratch, it doesn't follow the sentiment, and the next word is always out of order.

This is the fucked up mad libs in which I currently reside.
 
So, I just step back onto the wheel... one food in front of the other step-stepping until I hear the nauseating squeek of the wheel again, reminding me I am doing the right thing.

Or at least this thing, until something kicks me off of the wheel....