Wavering between visibility and invisibility.

I spent part of today wandering around a lake, and the other part reading The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue.  It was a good day. 

I have scrambled out of the weeds, mostly, and feel more like my ordinary self. Fresh air and good books can do that.

Sometimes, I feel like the main character in The Invisible Life....  Sometimes, I feel like I'm passing through the world, not leaving any evidence of my existence, not even an impression in the minds of the people I interact with. Sometimes, I feel like I'm unseen and unheard, unrecognized and forgotten. 

I used to think, sometimes, that it would be nice to live apart from the rest of the world. To live alone, just enough out of phase with the rest of reality, that I was able to interact with it, but not be a part of it. A solid ghost, haunting empty hotel rooms, helping myself to whatever I wanted with no thought of the consequences. 

There are some days that I still imagine that existence, but they are few and far between. I don't want to be invisible any longer.

I don't want to be apart from the world.

But I don't know, truthfully, if I want to be a part of the world either.

So I think I exist, sort of, in the twilight spaces between those two. A perceptible phantom, wavering between visibility and invisibility.

Unnoticed until I speak in a voice like thunder.