2004-09-03
One Tiny Finger Stuck In The Hole Of The Dyke To Stem The Flow
hearing: Disloyalist Party - Joy Electric
reading: My old diary entries. keke.
feeling: tired, and a bit ill...weary of myself...
I reached through my illness last night, groping desperately for the good mood I'd thought I'd been enjoying the past few days, but instead, stumbled and fell over a well.
A well of sorrow. There was a tiny set of hands pressing a huge board across the vast opening pushing back a flood fed by stress and impossible wishes.
The sight might have been comical if it had not been my emotional state. It was like a suitcase packed to overflowing with clothes and a little child sitting upon it trying to get it to shut.
But only to have the clothes fling the suitcase wide open and throw the child against the wall.
I gaped at the well for a while. Wondering how this flood came about. I recalled the rains of tears I had been shedding inwardly, but then I thought of how many good sobbing fits I had...two or three months ago... oh. That was only two or three sobbing fits.
But I wanted that to be sufficient. I guess it wasn't.
And it isn't that I'm depressed now. I feel rather calm, but when faced with that well, I know what I have built up inside. And the residue can only keep building.
I'm just not sure what to do. I'm afraid to cry at this point. I hate to do it. It hurts too much. It only makes me feel worse. I am swinging across the swamp in circles, by means of weak vines of superficial comforts. Comforts, indeed. Real bits of happiness, indeed. But rather superficial, and very weak. But it's better than falling into the swamp, because when I fall in the swamp, I have no one to show me across or pull me out. Not because they don't care or don't want to, but because they can't...
I've been through this too many times. I can deal with it better now than I used to, but it's still a hard, bitter circus act.
All this swinging...all these "feats of valor"...
I went to sleep with these thoughts running through my head, and the tougher burden of illness.
An underlying theme, was that I had to get up unusually early in the morning, and make a long drive with my father. And I would do the driving.
I nightmared about it all night. I nightmared about going and passing out in the car. I nightmared about ways of getting out of it but being dragged kicking and screaming to the car anyway.
I woke up several times, thrashing and sweaty. Eventually, I knew that I couldn't drive the next day. I couldn't make the trip. There was no way...I didn't want to seem like I was lazy by slipping out of it, but neither did I want to give a sufficient excuse and give my parents a shadow of what has been going on inside of me.
When my father came to wake me in the morning, I groaned and flipped over and buried myself under the covers.
He prodded me several times, and although I was wide awake, I pretended to be groggy, and so far asleep still that I was incoherent, and barely made it understood that I couldn't make the trip today.
He grasped my meaning, kindly acquiescenced and let me to sleep.
I was far too hungry to fall back asleep at this point though.
But I wasn't going with my father.
So, with that weight off my shoulder, I spent the morning in leisure and rest.
I have spent my whole day in leisure and rest, trying to recuperate what I can of myself, and return my health to normal order.
Right now, I am sick again. I think the process of re-adjusting is going to make me sick for a spell. Hopefully though, I can recover myself.
How much though? At this point I'm unsure, because I think it's my building sorrow and distress, the languishing of my soul, which is telling upon my physical health.
I don't know how to stop that. I don't know how to mend that.
Or maybe I do...but I can't do it...
Vanity and Envy.
I think it is rather obvious who is who... I had an intricate, sensual story worked up for them, but I have spent all of my creativity for tonight...
An afterthought: I'm pretty damn sick of all this emotional nonsense of mine. Urgh.