Suppressing the feeling

Writing: I do the thing in the morning shortly after I arise. I cannot begin until a mug of coffee sits next to me and a cigarette burns in the ashtray. When I finish writing for the day, I tend to forget it as if it were the residual recollection of last night’s dream.

Now, that it is winter I start in the dark with nothing but the glow of the laptop screen lighting the room. When the sun comes up, I get the feeling that something is not right. I must identify the feeling to continue writing.

Life seems a problem unsolved, or a problem deferred. I think of methods and systems to get from point A to point B. I never reach point B no matter what my direction or velocity. My life does not fit the neat world of vector algebra. One day it will, for I will arrive at point D, better known as death.

I imagine point B as some sort of Truth, yet feel it as Certainty. Certainty is too much to ask of anyone. We would lose our humanity if we asked for certainty from everyone, or even ourselves. I live in a world of linear approximations. Truth is a limit point at which I never arrive. Point B sits on the horizon every morning as if I have traversed no distance the previous day. I can see it, yet will never touch it.

There, I have identified the feeling again or at least gotten to a point where I can suppress it for the rest of the day.