Quicksand

Flailing.

I always think I’ll see it coming, but I never do until I’m a full leg in.

It starts as a seduction: the luxury of empty space. Time for slowing down. No pressure to produce. 

But before I know it, I’m being sucked straight down, clinging to caffeine and sugar but getting no lift. My world depopulates. My brain folds in. 

What am I staring at? Am I contemplating or am I paralyzed?

I thought by now I had it all sewn up. A strong inner flame that resisted wind and water. But external validation is oxygen. Without it, my flame sputters. Is this pathetic or is it being human?

I live between extremes, being too busy and not busy enough. Satisfied with being a good person and parent. Feeling bankrupt without professional accomplishment.

A human ping-pong ball.