Deja Vu of the Meaning of Life

I am a bit in between. In between what I don't exactly know. But I will soon figure it out and escape it. Every little observation I get trapped between one and the other, but I don't seem to be able to be in perfect sync with what it is that I am observing. This constant feeling of deja vu of the ordinary, the constant thought that everything is happening twice. All that I see for the first time, has a dusty layer of familiarity. The odd sensation that everything has happened already, that I am just an old witness, as if staring at the rerun of an old tv series. The worst of it all is that nothing of it makes any sense. I am staring at it as if I don't understand it. Of course there's nothing to understand. There's nothing to think of what is happening. The old white woman with her black untailored shirt and pants, the young black woman with her distinguished eyes whose toes point toward another, the small groups of New York police academy cadets that cross the street, the yellow cabs that color the road, it all just takes place without a particular meaning.