Spinning My Wheels

Spinning my wheels with mud flying and splattering and I’m all wet and dirty and mucky. I want to spin my wheels until I’ve dug a hole so deep that I will fall in and no one will be able to find me. I spend my time walking forward and seeing everything backwards, nothing looks quite right, nothing feels comfortable, nothing is the same, even a little bit. The wheels turn fast while I move in slow motion, like I am watching a movie that I am not in. The mud flies higher and higher, spinning in cartwheels through the air like some circus acrobat about to explode with the excitement of his tumble. I’ve been standing here spinning my wheels for months, talking the talk, wearing the same clothes, not getting anywhere but by. Life is escaping me. Life goes on and on and never stops, but I live each day in the same way looking for my life. I wake. I search. I call out. When can I feel like I am a part of this world instead of feeling apart from it?

Spinning My Wheels

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