I don't want to write about WHILOM today. Today I want to write about how, through some phenomenon I don't understand, it seems to rain more at the edge of a cloud than under the darkest part. Why is this? I can see blue sky. I can see sunshine lighting the ground blocks ahead of where I stand. Yet I am walking down the street in the pouring rain. It's natural occurrences like this that inspire cliches like the darkest hour is just before dawn. Is the darkest hour just before dawn? Maybe this cliche inspired itself.
Why does life require one to hit the bottom before turning upward? Is it the momentum? Does the bottom possess the only source of energy to propel you forward? And why is the bottom so elusive? Why are there so many phantom bottoms before the real bottom actually reveals itself? Why do I have so many moments during which I think, this has to be the lowest point, yet I somehow can get lower, deeper, more confused, more pathetic, deleting phone numbers (an act that matters little when phone numbers are memorized), waking from sex dreams about a WHILOM lover with my hand tucked into the waistband of my pajama pants, getting tipsy off sixteen ounces of beer and yelling to a coworker in a loud bar about how "THERE'S JUST SUCH A FUCKING THIN LINE BETWEEN TWO PEOPLE WHO HAVE BAD TIMING AND TWO PEOPLE WHO ARE JUST INEVITABLY INCOMPATIBLE," as though drawing that line really matters, or really makes anything any easier to comprehend.
I'm reaching for the bottom, I'm feeling around, I think I'm close. I think I'm ready to head back up.