I'm going there

Went for a walk with Warden in the cemetery because it was an especially nice day. But while walking, I became extremely fatigued, so much so, I couldn't form a coherent sentence, which wouldn't have been a problem, had I not bumped into someone I knew and when they asked what I was up to, I tried to form a sentence, then a word, but all that came out was, "Blurp."

I've been working hard lately, taking on more work than I need to and I'm starting to wonder if it's really worth it. I mean, I want to go on this vision quest, but I also want to enjoy myself in the meantime.

Warden knew I was tired because when we got home, he licked my hand, then my face, and left me alone in the living room, where I took a nap on the couch. This is what I dreamt about:

My feet were anchors, but my arms were wings and everywhere I walked, people stopped to offer advice. "Cut your feet off," some said. "No, pick a spot and remain there, forever," others said. They were shouting at me.

Guy called, waking me up. Thank goodness! He wanted to know if I could make it to his farewell party (Guy's leaving for a logging job out West). I asked when it was and he said in two weeks. "I hope I can make it," I said.

People come and go all the time. In prison, I used to dream of all the places I'd go when I was released. Homes would describe New Mexico to me, saying that sometimes, he couldn't tell if the mountains were really mountains, or clouds. Can you imagine? All I see here are grey skies and dirty snow. When Homes would tell me about these places, I listened to him and I said to myself: "As soon as I get out of here, I'm going there."

There.

There is here, I guess. It's not much better than there or there or there. Some days, I want to fly and other days, I want to anchor. Both these acts are terrifying, and so most days, I oscillate between the two, flying someplace wonderful and far away in my mind, but anchored in a chair in a building in a room I have a difficult time calling my own. It hurts.