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Goodbyes 4 by Owen Jones
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As I step onto the scales, the digital brain whirring into painful alertness, before the correct tonnage appears, I see the winking numbers smile. It is of course an old joke between it and I, the old giving way to the new only to become the same old. As the weight unfolds, cramping the screen, I smile, the thought of the weights the new me will lose of the old fills me with expectancy. The unbridled potential of the new year and the new me, sadly the scales don't understand blipping a frown as I step off into a dance. Goodbye, bastard.
Inspite of the encumbering shell I skip and twirl, an enervating madness I hope shall not stop until I reach that correct figure. Out of breath and flustered I do stop, in front of the small notebook holding tight to my life. A series of goals, broken down simply to move between version 2.07 and 2.08. Updates skim my conscious, strange feelings of an insightful nature burden me with this crazed idea.
Familiarity is that comfortable path we use to pass the time commonly known as life, the fear of change heavy on our backs, holding us to the middle of the road. Stepping off the path is a challenge, not only in removing the yoke to step onto another path, but many paths, constantly diverging. Start slow is the key, exuberance leads to exhaustion and a movement back toward the known roads. To sustain change, it must first become familiar, leading to action without thought. Until the path is comfortable once again and rebellion stirs. I am in the grip of rebellion and rush to prepare my goodbyes.
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