Corn Syrup

With my new job, I'm on the road much of the time, with plenty of time in the state van by myself and plenty of time in hotels by myself, which is nice for me, because I need my introvert time just as much as the next introvert whose job requires interacting with large groups of people day in and day out. At the same time, that extra solitude also means that I spend more time thinking about things when I'm on the road than when I'm at home. It's not really soul-searching; it's more analyzing my life, because I'm the one who has to live it and I should be responsible and reasonable about it.

Even while being responsible and reasonable, I get discouraged when I don't make the changes I want to see in myself. I'm discouraged often enough that I figured it was worth thinking about. Why can't I do all the things I want to do, be the person everyone wants me to be, fix my faults and be a healthier, happier individual? I think the problem I have is that I'm stuck in a rut, but it's a more advanced rut than I've ever been stuck in before. It's a rut that fills up with water and covers you and expands so you're under an ocean of unmanageable water. But drowning in the ocean is metaphor tired with use, so this is what I came up with to explain what I feel when I'm not who I want to be:

It's like, it's like I'm in this ocean, this big pool of corn syrup, this vat of corn syrup, like all my fears and worries and problems and iniquities and doubts and faults and failures have liquefied and turned into corn syrup. And I'm swimming around, you know, and I've got this breathing apparatus and this corn syrup swimsuit that is ideally suited for living in corn syrup and, you know, I'm functioning. I just don't think about the fact that I'm in corn syrup, that it's gross and it gives me these headaches and it's not good for my body and I wasn't made to swim around in corn syrup- I was made to walk around in air. As long as I keep all those truths out of my mind, I'm OK in my corn syrup. Besides, it's what I do. I swim around in corn syrup. Anything else would be changing the status quo, doing something that has previously been undone and that's not a task I relish.

I'll look up, though, and I'll see all the things that are outside of this vat of corn syrup. There's music and books and sports and friends and people, all these people, outside of the corn syrup. And I think it'd be pretty cool to be up there, you know. I mean, the corn syrup, it's not that bad. There's the occasional piece of fruit suspended in the fluid, like with Jell-O or fruit cups, and it's pretty static, so stuff says where I left it, but the fun things, the stories and the monsters and the stars and the romances, those things are outside of the corn syrup, so I think about getting out. I even swim up to the edge, but then people come over and they see my swimsuit and my breathing apparatus and they look down on me. "We'll talk when you've changed. You'll be able to handle the adult things we deal with out here on the land then." And they walk away, so I stay in the corn syrup, embarrassed and ashamed.

But, still, all the good things are up there, out of the corn syrup, so I think harder about trying to get out. When no one's looking, I'll get right up to the edge, lift my hands out of the water, and get my arms ready to push myself out, but then I think of how hard it'll be. I mean, it'll take everything I've got just to get out of the corn syrup and then, once I'm out, it'll still be all over me. I mean, can you think of how much time it'll take to get the corn syrup off of me, out of my hair, out of my ears, out from underneath my fingernails, between my toes? I'll have to get used to breathing regular air, standing up on my own two feet under this crushing naturally-occurring gravity. I'll have to get new clothes. I don't even know where you'd get new clothes. I don't know how everyone else got what they have, I don't know how to get clean, and I don't know how to walk. I'd just look dumb if I got out. I mean, at least in the corn syrup, I can swim away from them, from the people with the cutting words and the looks that lack any kind of understanding or empathy. It really is my own little world down in the corn syrup- safe, even if it's not right. And anyway, even if I tried to ask for help getting out of the corn syrup, they wouldn't be able to understand what I'm saying- the corn syrup would distort the sound waves like water does and it'd come out in a jumble and I'd stay stuck.

Even if I did get out, I'd want someone there who'd been in the corn syrup and knew how to get out and how to get it off of me, or at least someone who'd studied corn syrup. I mean, I'd want someone who knew the exact viscosity of corn syrup so they'd know how much force I'd need to get out of the vat of corn syrup. They'd need to know the chemical composition of corn syrup so they could find the best way to clean it off of me. I mean, I guess I'd take home remedies as well, but they'd have to be proven, no old wives tales about how badgers are really good at detecting the last vestiges of corn syrup and can sniff it out of the creases in your elbows or the corners of your eyelids. I'd need someone willing to help me stand up for the first time and teach me how to walk without judgement. I'd need someone there coaching me until standing and walking were second nature. Then I'd want someone to stay beside me and help me find the right clothes so that I could fit in and figure the rest of it out, and french the llama, there better be someone there with a musical instrument and packed bookshelf, because I didn't climb out of that corn syrup for the oxygen and concrete.

And I don't think I'd go back near the corn syrup for a while. I'd probably stay away from sodas and juice and stuff too. It's not like my memories of the time swimming in and getting out of the corn syrup would disappear and memories can paralyze you, you know? Just the thought of being back in the corn syrup would be enough to keep me a touchdown away the edge of the vat for a long time, because it's so easy to picture yourself back inside. It's so easy to want to be back inside. I mean, you're supported by the corn syrup, you don't have to talk to anyone, you don't have to try to figure anything out at all- it's the apathetic atrophy of your muscles, heart, and mind and it's nice and easy. You have to fight for things out in the air that were never even a problem when you're in the corn syrup, and the promises that were made to you back in the corn syrup, the completeness that you think is out there with the people, that takes a while to actualize. Not only do you fight to stand, but you have to wait in hope. It's not easy.

That lack of ease is exactly why I would be there the next time someone swam up to the edge of the vat of corn syrup. I'd be there, fear and all, because they'd have no idea what kind of beautiful mess they were pulling themselves into.