Life, through foggy eyes

The last two weeks have been a blur. Between my impending escape from a life of responsibility and a new found family that is 5 times larger and 20 times more communicative than my own, the weeks and certainly days have melded together. Simple things like recalling who any of my teams have played on a given weekend, much less the game results, escape me.

People always ask me if I feel overwhelmed by all of this and I always tell them no, that not much overwhelms me. I now wonder if this is true or if in truth it is that I do not know what overwhelmed feels like. Surely I have felt no crescendo of emotion, no waves of feeling washing over me pinching at my chest and threatening to stifle my breath but I wonder if this is because the feelings do not exist at breath taking levels or if it is that in my management of them they have become lost in the daily circus that feels like my life.

I suppose the word circus should give that one away but I truly wonder if I really am constantly repressing, feigning strength til a time that I can crawl into a corner and let my life wash over me, or if I am in possession of that level of strength. Does the fact that I cannot recall anything other than an emotional baseline equivalent to that of a good book mean that I am overloaded, or just steady yet forgetful?

I say that the main reason for the trip is to deal with my father's death, and while this is no lie, to this day when I return home I still expect him to walk through the door, I wonder if that is just the justification for the needed catharsis.

My existence, I feel, is one lived on a deep plane, one that many times I wished and prayed would level out, but one I cannot shake. I see things differently than most and, while the simplicity of the surface has its allure, I cannot shake the feeling that depth has purpose. And so as the lines of life have blurred, the travel itself has been made more clear. It is within the clarity of travel that I hope to find my own clarity of life.