Sudden Blomp

It's all sailing smooth. 
Butter comfort. Candy cottons.
Pretty picturesque hi-fives. 

Life's passing by, as if scrolling through a hipstery website.

All's-good-but-unfulfilled-deep-inside-somewhere-ness.

In a good way though.

No one minds living in auto mode, no?

But. Sudden jolt. Blomp. 

Cookie crumbles.

Suspended in vacuum. Throaty lumps.

No cakewalk this rocky road.

No seat belts, no ropes to catch mid-air.

Stomach churns a deep shade of ugly green and discomfort.

A cab ride with a rash driver, ola uber. 

Clutch brake repeat. 

And of course you only had milk for breakfast. 

Ugh.

Frida Kahlo, The Two Fridas (Las dos Fridas), 1939, oil on canvas,
 67-11/16 x 67-11/16 inches (Museo de Arte Moderno, Mexico City)

The all too familiar feeling of sixth day

of starting to exercise.

The itch to give up, crawling up on you.

Why doesn't easy last? 

How dare it not?

Sweet slumber disrupted. 

Humble pies served.

Wait, what?

Look how the pattern broke.

Suddenly you see your truest intentions,

in high definition. 

So clear and right there. 

In the garb of pain, misery has given you freedom. 

Mud turns to cocoa magic.

No more running in circles,

No more settling dust on your magnificent soul. 

Soul so proud. 

No more settling. Period. 

No, it's not the last time this story's being told.

The higher you go the giddier it gets.

But you get a higher high every time. 

The addictive high of making something. 

Of creating, building, sweating, waiting, baking, loving.

Breaking yourself down completely and building again. 

Human Lego. Games.

Phoenix. 

4.0 5.0 6.0

Upgrade complete. 

Next level.

Brace for the roller coaster nausea coming up.

And sing along even if it's an annoying pop song.

'Cause we can't stop. 

And we won't stop.