"the future"

all these talks about the future have been exhilarating & unsettling at the same time, & today i finally had the will (i used to wield the trump card of "not enough time" in the past but post-as life has been gr8 bc naps on whim are therapeutic) to consolidate the flotsam-like thoughts in my head, especially the fear of the unknown that eats me up periodically:

what is the future, but a continuation of the culmination of seconds snowballed into minutes, then hours, days, months & years? 

wherein lies that paralysing fear if one sits in inertia, strapped in & sent through the tunnel of time & continuity, as the days repeat their existence & subsequently blur into a slur? 

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i am conflicted - wrestling between apprehension of both change & continuity. 

change in general scares me (if one negates the tinge of thrill that accompanies fear, if it is a good change): perhaps it's the idea of something Bigger than oneself out of one's realm of control, & the sole "choice" (an irony) to adapt to uncharted waters - or drown underneath a bed of weeds, strangled & relegated to the bottom of the ocean. 

yet, inertia - its antithetical counterpart, brings little solace as well. 

what is more terrifying than a helpless inability to change, a life condemned to & entrapped in dissatisfaction, while the world spins on its axis (bc no human is indispensable), brings day & night, & leaves one behind to one's own devices? 

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perhaps what grips me (at my very first crossroads of life where there is suddenly no structure to adhere to) is the conundrum of striking a precarious balance between the dichotomy of change & paralysis (the Victorians who were unable to reconcile the abysmal purity of Virgin Mary and the depravity of the "fallen woman" archetype compromised a solution of coexistence by cutting middle ground). 

i don't want either this or that - what i insist on being spoilt child who wants to have her cake & eat it?

i want to be both in the face of the forcefield of impending changes, & i am afraid that my attempts in the near future will be futile - like the inevitable yellowing of favourite pages of novels neatly stacked in shelves against moisture in the all-encompassing air - air that engulfs everything & leaves no book safe from its clutches.