Disappearance and the Submarine

 This is post is not going to be funny. To bore an to depress their small amount of readers- that's a suicide most of the bloggers commit sooner or later. Today I wish to tell about something I am paranoid about. This is more than anxiety. This is something paralizing and taking the breathe away, for a moment usually quick to pass but leaving you with an unpleasant feeling, that it can happen once again. This thing is called d i s a p p e a r a n c e. A friend of a friend of a friend of mine once said that people can disappear easily and it one of those things you have to calculate no matter how impossible it seems to be. Afterall, I think he was at least partly right.

 Imagine a constant object remaining in front of you untouched and try to convince yourself that once you close your eyes it will be gone. If you manage to do that, you will never again close your eyes without a previous thought telling you 'what if...' Being paranoid about the possibility of disappearance is the lack of belief in any constant in your life. Going deeper in this theory, you can easily believe (totally in practice) that you can lose anything in a blink of an eye. The cup of coffe you hold in your hand, a friend you talk to, and even your finger. You know it every morning of your life: that it's dangerous to believe that anything can last forever. Or at least not to think about it. 

 Paranoid thoughts like this always have a second bottom and a second sense you need to notice if you don't want to get crazy. With disappearance anxiety is the sense of hanging. Hanging in a submarine. Submarine is London, teaching as to survive, North East London trying to be home for a price overrated and for a time overreacted. I love my Submarine, even though it's a rough lover. 

 It's quiet and dark today and I'm talking to the clock. The Guy I Lived With has already left, even though his car is still parked in front of the house. We have a guest from a distant country, but she is not around even I swear I can hear the footsteps in my head. The emptiness is a product from a disappearance anxiety factory. I open the door and learn how to breathe the rain. In case if the air disappears.