tuesday

i feel good
i feel good
what a strange week already,
i feel good. 

:)

monday

it is monday.
mom has chemo at noon.
i have a meeting at 10, maybe 10:30, i'll check.
i am tired already. 
this is all i presently know about today. 
here's hoping there's more to it. 

hello. hello silent hello.

it's dark here. where i am, it's dark.   and, i don't want to be here,   and i don't know how to be anywhere else. i am scared. i am exhausted by my lack of creativity, and i am scared by the fewness of solutions. 

a million years ago, mar said "maybe you should write. like journal or something, help you deal with it". and i did. and for the longest time it helped. until, i was scared by what i was saying.  and now i'm scared of what i'm not saying. all the things i am not saying. and all the things i am scared to not say. and the problem is all the in-betweens. and how sometimes, randomest things make me really emotional. like a children's choir singing bjork, and their faces which made me almost cry. (this)

* * * 

i am not a robot. this is scary, because i am not a human. i am petulant and thrashy. i do not know the rules this creature abides by, but they are not mine. i did not set them, i do not control this thing. it moves so slowly, but it is soo large. i walk besides it. measuring it. reckoning it. i occasionally stand before it and try to stop it, pointlessly. 

p = mv. 

momentum is mass x velocity. 

this thing moves slow, but lordie it's size. decade+ of growing. i've never seen a tumour so empowered. slurping it's way down the street to work. typing. talking. returning home. ensuring nothing is pleasured in-between. 

* * * 

what the f*ck am i saying. am i actually saying? am i actually... hello? q? are you in there? are you anywhere? help me, there were parts of you i didn't hate. once-upon-a-time, the world was hard but you were okay, you were all i had. 

i... do i not have even you now? do you know how small that makes me feel? 

* * * 

do you know how much time i have spent thinking about it?  - about how to get home from here? this is that movie. the shipwrecked castaway, the lost-in-space thriller.  how did i spool out so far?  i swear i don't know. i promise.  but i am gone.  my brain is weird. i am so f*cking weird. 

* * *

do you understand how hard it is to want nothing, and to walk home from there? to understand that's not the right answer but i don't know which turn was the wrong one. the labryinth. the minotaur. the in-between. 

i tried robotocism. it worked, until i was an alcoholic. - so that can't have worked. 

i tried, whatever the opposite of that iswas, but i kept crying for no reason. often at train stations which is somewhat inconvenient. 

for once, is there a middle? does a pendulum actually ever stop? 40 years - does it ever stop? ever? 

i am ashamed not to know. 

i hate not knowing. 

so i have returned to the last silent place i was happy screaming into. hurling myself into hoping never to return. the anachronistic, boomerville, darkzone of the internet. i am halfway-sure this isn't even a thing anymore. but i don't want to turn on the lights and my notebooks are packed away and pens are scary, a daytime utensil and i have a situation involing nightime monsters. 

* * * 

i thought i'd have killed myself by now.  but,  i didn't. 

fine. ok. we'll live with that. 

the last of me struggles for breath. 

and i need it to grow more of me, because... 

nothing grows here. 

it is dark. 
and, 

i am scared and tired. 

and i now know: 

it's damn hard to get a ride home.