and in the routes leading in each direction

Deciding to be a person of action is difficult. I've found my mind seeing these things intensely. Vivid pictures of places and people.. .of stories. Whether or not I adhere to the rules... I've found a break and want to go for it. But where to go? The arrow points in each direction. Tells me which way leads where... but no warning of the ditches. We've seen these ways our entire lives but haven't searched them through. Haven't come back to talk of the war of activity. Why does it take me so long to move from this squeaky chair everyday? I guess I'm rooted to the spot of myself. Unable to unhinge my brain from my want of things... to do things. I'm going to try to be it and not wish it to be. I don't like flying stars overhead because I long to hitch a ride on one. At least see it closer... or feel a real orbit. So my head is my freedom and my cage. I can't seem to escape it. Once upon a time I felt I had a place... it seems that place has been rearranged and set for someone else.... like they invited me to tea and then decided I should sit on the floor. I don't mind. I haven't the mind for talking their small talk. I like tea in any old chair... in any old place. It seems my fountains are running and my hands aren't working fast enough. The cup will overflow again and those friends and faces will wash away over the silt. I'll rummage around for it... the little snap bean. I'm searching for it still. My inner curmudgeon... desperate to find herself a lovely spot on a current or wave. She wants to curl inside the pod... for a greedy feast of ideas.