Who watches over you
I am tired. In a very real way. In a basic, fundamental, at the core way that is not remedied by a night of uninterrupted sleep. I am tired in the way that comes with years, years of exhaustion and defeat and sadness and rage.
I'm experiencing a distinct feeling of disconnection. Everything is surreal and I'm watching a 3D movie with no glasses, subtitled in English but I speak only Hungarian. People make no sense. Things make no sense. Events and situations seem trivial and contrived and I cannot care about anything. Anything, anything. I don't care.
I think that I have used up my allotment of sunshine. Do we only get so much? I wonder. I wonder if I sucked all my happiness trying to get through things before and now I have no reserves, no cache, nothing stockpiled and no overdraft protection. I was not ready for it this time. Not. Ready. And now I scrape at my insides and claw at my head trying to pull the resin because I have to keep it up. At work. For the kids. For myself, because I try and fool myself as often as I try and fool everyone else. Today, and yesterday, and possibly tomorrow, it is not going to happen. There is no bird house in my soul. I have been finished, and now there is nothing for it but to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow, and sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow, and sleep tonight again.
I got a letter.
I'm experiencing a distinct feeling of disconnection. Everything is surreal and I'm watching a 3D movie with no glasses, subtitled in English but I speak only Hungarian. People make no sense. Things make no sense. Events and situations seem trivial and contrived and I cannot care about anything. Anything, anything. I don't care.
I think that I have used up my allotment of sunshine. Do we only get so much? I wonder. I wonder if I sucked all my happiness trying to get through things before and now I have no reserves, no cache, nothing stockpiled and no overdraft protection. I was not ready for it this time. Not. Ready. And now I scrape at my insides and claw at my head trying to pull the resin because I have to keep it up. At work. For the kids. For myself, because I try and fool myself as often as I try and fool everyone else. Today, and yesterday, and possibly tomorrow, it is not going to happen. There is no bird house in my soul. I have been finished, and now there is nothing for it but to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow, and sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow, and sleep tonight again.
I got a letter.
posted by machine central at 1:48 AM
2 Comments:
I've been there
it fades, remember? something silly or important brings a touch of the sunshine back
swear
Believe the sunshine comes back. Believe because I believe. Because we've all been there, we've all thought the same, and we've all come out of it. I used to tell my friend, Sandra, that the stars would come back in her eyes. She was afraid she lost them. I told her that she could get them back. It just took time and a lot of happy moments.
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