hovering

I feel somehow like I am hovering just off the ground, that there's a thin layer of air between my body and everything around me. In my work, I am between things, great things are about to start but have not yet started. Past projects are nearly done but have not quite let me go. Socially I am reconnecting with people, but am stuck permanently in the present participle, not connecting long enough or regularly enough simply to be connected. In dancing, in climbing, I am repeatedly starting again after a break -- the length of the breaks are shortening, but it's so different from how I once was there's no way for me to think that I'm back.

And then there's dating. There is where I understand that air has mass, that there is a distinct cushion of vibrating molecules bouncing around between myself and others. I want someday to reach through that space to actually touch another, to merge boundaries, to feel the exchange of electrons, to trust that. But to do that, I think -- somewhere -- I have to land.