Shedding the past.

I now have diary entries in random places. Notebooks, pocket diaries, mobile notepads, and scraps of paper. I wonder what those selective moments of journaling tell me?
Am I eager to hold on to that memory?
Do I recognise it as a good one and thereby wish to cement it?
Do I feel overwhelmed and am trying to channel it?
Or do I just sometimes want to find an outlet for whichever way I feel?
The days pass by in a lull.
Good days, bad days, stagnant days, up, down, under, tangled, tangled, untangled. That’s just the way it is.
After eons, I am at rest.
I think.
Or I have at least braked for a while.
My mother’s restlessness creeps up on me.
My father’s pit of doom and gloom ready to swallow.
There is no rest, push forward, they say.
Time is running, they scream.
From who is time running? Me? I don’t feel that way.
But as they age, it’s their worries of time waning that makes them shudder.
So, they grab me by the shoulders and say, “DO IT, DO IT”.
But, I am in a haze now.
There is quiet, after ages.
I do not wish to disturb it.
I deserve my period of lull.
I have made no decision until now except that it wasn’t haunted by haste.
Now, I wish haste to never accompany me again.
I only wish for consistency in my own sanity.
I wish for consistency in my actions to my Lord.
I wish for a period of lumber, for it suits my state of mind at this moment in time.
I wish … for things to come to a grinding halt.
The past, the present and the future, come to a pause.
Pause, pause, pause.