2004-05-24
I Want... Answers...
hearing: Suitcase - Over The Rhine
reading: Othello by Shakespear and Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray
wearing: jean capris, brown belt, white sleeveless shirt with a turquoisish colored sleeveless shirt over it, white handwarmer, gold ring
I want...
I want answers
I want honesty
I want my fears to go away
I want to know what's wrong (or whether it's what's right)
I want to be able to sleep at night
I want my mind to be at ease
I want a second chance
I want an ending...and...
I want a beginning borne from it
Well obviously I am going through a lot of mental confusion/stress/torment/upheaval/something this morning. Thus is evidenced by the little I can spew out of my thoughts this morning. I will add one more now, I want to be able to say everything that's on my mind. But I can't. And I won't. Things just can't work that way.
I can't even explain my situation exactly. Some of it is the loss of my friend the other day. Not a lot. And maybe I shouldn't be, but I am missing him. I wish we didn't have to part, but in the end, we had to do what I wished we didn't have to. It was best. But it puts a damper on my spirits.
And I miss my cat. Horribly.
And I think I miss my grandmother. A little.
And all the loss dwindles me down some. I tend to move into a state of confused, apathetic languishing as I consider what I had, and how its gone. I keep expecting to turn around, and find that it was all there the whole time. It was just hiding, or taking a vacation. But nothing is. All I have lost, I have lost for good. It has all finally slipped out of my hands, only to be recovered in the ashes of my memories.
I have something else troubling me. But I can't say much about it. It confuses me. It unsettles me because I am not sure what to make of it. I am not sure what I am supposed to make of it. I question, but answers are not being delivered, and I don't know what I shall do to make them come.
Suffice it to say, that there is a paper on my nightstand, with something written on it, and it rests in my hand and is pored over by my eye often. One night, I was briefly awake at 5:40am, and in that state of drowsy confusion, I rolled in my bed, my hands snatched up the paper, and I blinked my way through what was written on it. I barely absorbed what was on the paper, but what did it matter, for I almost knew it by heart anyway. I tossed the paper aside, rolled over, and fell back asleep directly with the words faintly echoing across the expanse of my soul. And that is how it goes with that paper lately. Whatever that paper contains, echoes often.
I want to stop thinking too much.