|
Sunday, Nov. 07, 2004 / 6:26 p.m. ~Bleak~ I have forgotten to write here. I have yet to put on my glasses this weekend. I spent hours in front of this monitor, yesterday, a whole day, an entire day of leaning in close to read. Reading. I read an entire journal, I couldn't stop myself. I felt I was investigating, looking for answers, without even knowing the questions. Knowing there were questions and I had to find answers, and in that journal I would learn all I needed to learn. I suppose I accomplished it. And today I told myself I wouldn't even turn the computer on. I didn't need to check email only to be disappointed by what wouldn't be there waiting for me, by the letter I know I'll never receive, and I didn't need to write, not anymore, there's nothing left to say that hasn't already been said in so many different ways. And I read today that someone drove from Georgia to the site of the former World Trade Center, and there shot himself to death, in protest of Bush 'winning' this election. What a grand statement. I had so many dreams. They come back to me in flashes as I look around, as I walk into different rooms, or think of things, randomly, as if I've been away a very long time and am only just now assimilating in this 'real' world. Tomorrow all will be normal again, but work will remind me of it all too now, as if there is no real escape but time. It's back to that, longing for time to hurry, faster, as fast as it can possibly move, but it's on its own schedule, time. We move with it, out of control. Or controlled by it, more likely. Just random thoughts, like the flashing fragments of all the dreams I had. My head is heavy, still, with sleep. I entertained the idea of staying in bed until tomorrow morning, of sleeping through tonight and into the alarm beeping tomorrow. I knew I had the cats to care for, and I knew I had to wash clothes to wear to work this week, and I knew I had to be responsible, have to be, and that this was a choice, but it only makes sense, so here it is. PC on again, window open again, writing in box on screen, again, no glasses, again, leaning in, squinting, hard to see, words, just words on a screen, or on a wall, it's all just words. What comes to mind is 'nothing really matters', but it all matters, and I know this. It's another day tomorrow, and there will be forced interaction, and all that needs to be done will be done, and I don't own a gun, and I don't think my car would make it to NYC, and I won't kill myself because Bush is still president. There are better reasons, but there is more to endure, life goes on. It's best not to make it stop, it will stop on its own, one day. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |