Living with 100 year old parents.

Sitting once again on this foreign bed at my parents place, may as well be foreign exchange. Moisture is building in all my crevices, it's gonna be a hot one today. Obsessing about the future, so afraid to make a mistake I can't seem to take a step, like climbing down a cliff side, one faulty move might send me toppling downward. Here I am, under the impression that I've been very good and very right, taking in the separate but equal versions regarding the course of life from everyone I've met, and trying to find the sweet spot where they all collide with my own cliff side trail. Being a creative person in an archaic world tends to create massive clouds of confusion and demoralization, but, historically, this is nothing new, and the beautiful minds that burst through the barriers so that I have the opportunity to complain so openly have surely faced greater obsticles. Thank you, my angels, for bearing the burden. I try desperately, in my moderate way, to walk in your footsteps and continue to blaze. From here, looking out to sea, it's a long way up and a long way down.