I have this image of stepping out of my skin, unzipping it maybe from some unseen seam and shrugging it off like a well-worn bathrobe. Maybe by taking it off and laundering it I can remove the grime and filth that has gotten underneath and inside of it. I want to wash it out, clean it until it squeeks that way that clean things do. I'd find a clothesline in the sun and let the fresh breeze slowly blow it dry. Putting it on again would be like a rebirth; like that feeling you get when you have finally finished unpacking from a big move and the clean sheets are on the bed, you lay down and stretch out and wiggle your toes and everything is where it should be.
But I am stuck inside this draping of humanity that feels more and more contaminated every day by my actions and deeds. I lug it around through the filth and stink that is life and can never quite seem to rid it of the odors that permeate. The constant lingering of stink reminds me that I really don't start anew every day as some would suggest; I start from where I left off the day before. No mythical creature comes in the night to erase my transgressions from memory or happenings. When I awake it is with the knowledge that I am the same bag of flesh that crawled into my bed the night before. This knowledge I have gained has come at a great price and the transaction cannot be refunded. Each day there are different choices that lead down paths and avenues leading to incompatible places which have new roads to choose from, we can never travel the same path twice and cannot return to where we have been. Onward we must go until the inevitable end.
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