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Sunday, Jan. 25, 2004 / 8:20 p.m. ~Second Angsty Rant - Slow and Painful~ Norman's back is pressed up against the bottom shelf of the bookcase, one forearm across her face, her eyes, blocking out the light, she sleeps despite any sounds of anguish I make. I worry she soaks up my vibe, my energy transfers to her. I couldn't be more low. I couldn't sink farther unless I sat with a blade perched above a vein. I don't come close, I am responsible, if nothing else I am afraid to die. I am terrified of the biggest unknown, the vacuum of space and time outside of what we know. I have no faith, I am avoiding my own mortality. So I live instead, in pain. I suffer, alone, as we all must do, and in this I feel alone, feel it is only I feeling this way, everyone else is happy, everyone else has something, or someone, and I have Norman, and she sleeps the sleep of peaceful ignorance. She has no knowledge of what people do to each other, the pain we cause. Why do we? Why do we hurt each other so? I know I have to function, I am responsible, as I said before, I only called in sick when I was having too much fun not to, because I wanted to lie in a bed wrapped in some man's arms, but I will go, and I will work, and I will sit with swollen eyes and try to see, and try to respond when needed, and life goes on for those of us too afraid to die. I can't take any more pain. I said that last time, I say it every time, and yet it happens, I make it happen, I bring it upon myself, I expose myself to it, like I am slowly stabbing myself, I am slowly being bled, it's a slow and painful death, this living. Cost of the War in Iraq
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