washing me, washing me down

Right now I'm sipping on a little glass of wine, trying to come down from a long long week. I'm tired. I've been tired for a few days now. I have one day off this week (that would be tomorrow), and I already feel torn between my desire to do nothing and the urge to get shit done.

The past few weeks have been a rough patch. A slippery bit. The section of the old school driving game where you car hits the oily bit and veers out of control and does that squealy thing.

There's this theory out there that every 7 years you go through a complete cycle of cell death-- sure some cells die faster-- but the whole shebang will change out every seven years. And those tend to be crucial years: 7. 14. 21. 28. 35 -- and I'll be 42 in December.

It's kind of like the old Saturn return-- but whereas my Saturn return kind of hit me unaware(s), I have this very acute sense of change approaching me-- I can feel something old ( I'm not sure what it is) falling away, making room for something new (I'm not sure what it is).

It's kind of take me to the river drop me in the water washing me down washing me, but it's a little more labored than that. It's a bit more reptilian, like I've gotta pull this old skin off between a couple of rocks, and there might just be some bits that stick to me (armpits, most likely) that will need to fall off unassisted. If I had the time to spend right this moment and I wasn't sodamn tired from my six days of work and 80+ miles, I bet I could find the answer. Just not now. Now I need to sleep.