Wednesday, February 13, 2013

I try so hard to make my life like early mornings and late late nights. Those quiet, bewildering minutes that tick, when such boring days are only pending, an old one fading out and a new one not quite formed yet. The thrill of thinking you know nothing about the brand new day, even though all you have to expect is the same old thing. I am somehow able to believe, every early morning and late late night that this time it will be vibrant and so so different. My heart does break every day right around 4 pm, and I have been getting this nauseous feeling, the worst kind, where I'm thinking "my skin has got to be green right now." It never goes away until I make myself a peanut butter and something sandwich, and even after that the sweat on my palms does not subside until I am safe in the anxiety of midnight, where the hope of that other world I know of is re-captured, and I lay on the edge of my pillow barely sleeping, risking all the rest I would need to skid across tomorrowland, literally in my rocketship.

I am irrational. I don't know if it's good but it helps me put my boots on and get things done most days. I want to write so desperately bad. The way it terrifies me is absolute. I never stop, just so I won't get to that place where I finally have the time. I do the most pointless of things, like sew pillow cases by hand, just so I don't have the time to write. Because when I get to that moment when nothing is in my way but the lack of ability, I feel like my rocketship has left without me.

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