something is wrong with today. its sticky and too warm and heavy and i cant get the golden retriever smell out of my nose. ive been driving too much lately. i knew it would be something when i had a car. knew i would run every chance i get. fleeing from my own home, im getting in the car. engine come on, help me escape. but i always end up somewhere i just want to leave again. its tough. walking talking playing normal and somehow im doing it but inside im going bat shit crazy. theres no structure, so listen up. today was terrible in many ways. funny in some. laughable maybe. the switch in position, the strange return of him, work and the angry phone calls, me slipping and falling. ugh. i saw her face and as i walked to my car i remembered that it was years ago and oh boy were roles reversed. i just laughed out loud. i almost died on the highway today. it would have been messy and loud but at least it would be final.
where am i going?
why is there fog everywhere today. i only talk in riddles now. cant say things in proper form or context. inside jokes and cryptic texts. what is she thinking. will she ever just say yes or no? probably not. its all too much. negative nancy. silly girl.
im tired of this already and i need a shower and a shotgun.
out.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
singing in public, mass horror, 2 days off, warm floaty feeling, and wondering where the prize is
cereal boxes get thrown across the room when stephanie digs and digs and comes up with sticky hands and a stupid nonsensical cardboard token. [give me plastic robots and tiny glass fish] anything. i wont swallow it. promise.
the last few days have been. nice.
people make me feel weird. i hate it. like falling.
i just cant seem to quit smoking.
im obsessed with other peoples relationships.
trying to work out knots and tangles.
trying not to cut off all my hair and move to kansas.
ill raise pigs.
anything.
today i got home and promptly fell into drawing on the strips of canvas on my living room floor. writing. cutting. i put on turn on the bright lights. i danced i sang. i sat in the middle of my kitchen and thought about food. trying to will it into existence. nothing. i guess i dont have powers. well certain ones. whatever. i went into the bathroom armed with yellow rubber gloves and ajax and scrubbed and sang more. yelled at the cats when they decided to knock over every jar of paint water in my house. i laid in bed and hated all four windows in my room. startd to miss the bed i wont have soon. tom gets home and im in a weird mood. he doesnt say much to me. i dont think were talking. he leaves and comes back with beer. i fly into a rage and leave. now im here. my eyes burn and i hate the internet. hate that i have all this to say but the words dont match.
yet im smiling.
memories of bars and stupid illogical sheets and shaking so hard in front of the small group while i butchered when you were young. drunk. watching the couple across from me touch and inside im kind of flying. driving at night. driving during the day. getting ready to work again. ugh. at least i got paid to get whiplash. dont ask. simple things are all i have. the more complex part of it all the part that maybe i want is still unreachable or impossible. im still a little breathless and time is ticking wait time is streaming. ouch whats wrong with the air? its stale and much too warm.
this is a bit much.
i cant blog with their voices behind me.
enough. i have to keep this warmth. i have to keep this.
drive home.
the last few days have been. nice.
people make me feel weird. i hate it. like falling.
i just cant seem to quit smoking.
im obsessed with other peoples relationships.
trying to work out knots and tangles.
trying not to cut off all my hair and move to kansas.
ill raise pigs.
anything.
today i got home and promptly fell into drawing on the strips of canvas on my living room floor. writing. cutting. i put on turn on the bright lights. i danced i sang. i sat in the middle of my kitchen and thought about food. trying to will it into existence. nothing. i guess i dont have powers. well certain ones. whatever. i went into the bathroom armed with yellow rubber gloves and ajax and scrubbed and sang more. yelled at the cats when they decided to knock over every jar of paint water in my house. i laid in bed and hated all four windows in my room. startd to miss the bed i wont have soon. tom gets home and im in a weird mood. he doesnt say much to me. i dont think were talking. he leaves and comes back with beer. i fly into a rage and leave. now im here. my eyes burn and i hate the internet. hate that i have all this to say but the words dont match.
yet im smiling.
memories of bars and stupid illogical sheets and shaking so hard in front of the small group while i butchered when you were young. drunk. watching the couple across from me touch and inside im kind of flying. driving at night. driving during the day. getting ready to work again. ugh. at least i got paid to get whiplash. dont ask. simple things are all i have. the more complex part of it all the part that maybe i want is still unreachable or impossible. im still a little breathless and time is ticking wait time is streaming. ouch whats wrong with the air? its stale and much too warm.
this is a bit much.
i cant blog with their voices behind me.
enough. i have to keep this warmth. i have to keep this.
drive home.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
saturation
i have to be up and about in few too many hours. go to bed? pssshhh.
[quick! pull away from the deep spiraling black. think up up up positive up]
things that save me:
-the little red head at work with the bad free style spirit and the ability to make on hell of a cup cake. giddy up.
-coffee with a double shot and caramel and 3 raw sugars.
-my girls, piglet and the jet. my little warriors. my protectors. my spazztastic entertainers.
-recent realizations.
-cigarettes.
-vanilla soy
-the above but with cocoa pebbles.
-late nights.
-driving.
-my duplex with all the lights on and the tv blaring elephant shell.
-drawing little things at work and leaving them in weird places.
-beans in the hoppa.
-black hair dye. sometimes.
-music music music [currently tokyo police club, goldfrapp, the young dubliners, amanda fucking palmer, pj harvey, and elliot smith]
-believing in people that are miles away and still moving. don't look back honey.
-thomas.
-makeovers.
-deep thought in the afternoon hours. when i finally wake up.
-my dreams.
-lunch breaks.
-warm words.
im in combat currently. fighting against the down part of the manic versus the depression. depression is up by alot right now. foul. ugly. sticky. it hurts. bad. and somehow i know i have to turn things around in my head. arms up. guns drawn. fingers itchy im waiting for a moment to move. holding my breath im underwater. fleeing from familiar faces and an even more familiar pain. i hate this. i want to turn my phone off. i want to call in to work and never go back. i want to get in my car and drive just drive to the ocean and run into it. laughing in a way that isnt funny at all. hm. images pour ever and spill into every crevasse of the home that is my brain. the attic has a leak. i have no one to call and im no handy [wo]man. sigh. im up all night. but instead of pacing and chattering im staring and forgetting how to work my xBox. giving up im laying on the couch and the cats crawl on me. maybe they know whats going on. theyre trying to revive me. reminding me to feed them. telling me its going to be ok. but im useless and i reach to touch them but theyve been gone for hours. at work i cant simply cant hold my smile anymore. my regulars tilt their heads and i can only shrug and say its nothing. doesnt matter. and i disappear into the back room to sit and contemplate the dishes. im exhausted i just want to sleep. the bed is huge. the blankets tangle with my hair and im sore everywhere. this is like a bad wellbutrin commercial. im that girl sighing and crying in them. i see myself on there in these commercials for the medication i cant afford. do it yourself doesnt work well with bipolar. ouch ouchie ouch. the things in the list above help. but somehow im always starving for oxygen and scratching my skin. the week just started. awesome.
lets do it.
[quick! pull away from the deep spiraling black. think up up up positive up]
things that save me:
-the little red head at work with the bad free style spirit and the ability to make on hell of a cup cake. giddy up.
-coffee with a double shot and caramel and 3 raw sugars.
-my girls, piglet and the jet. my little warriors. my protectors. my spazztastic entertainers.
-recent realizations.
-cigarettes.
-vanilla soy
-the above but with cocoa pebbles.
-late nights.
-driving.
-my duplex with all the lights on and the tv blaring elephant shell.
-drawing little things at work and leaving them in weird places.
-beans in the hoppa.
-black hair dye. sometimes.
-music music music [currently tokyo police club, goldfrapp, the young dubliners, amanda fucking palmer, pj harvey, and elliot smith]
-believing in people that are miles away and still moving. don't look back honey.
-thomas.
-makeovers.
-deep thought in the afternoon hours. when i finally wake up.
-my dreams.
-lunch breaks.
-warm words.
im in combat currently. fighting against the down part of the manic versus the depression. depression is up by alot right now. foul. ugly. sticky. it hurts. bad. and somehow i know i have to turn things around in my head. arms up. guns drawn. fingers itchy im waiting for a moment to move. holding my breath im underwater. fleeing from familiar faces and an even more familiar pain. i hate this. i want to turn my phone off. i want to call in to work and never go back. i want to get in my car and drive just drive to the ocean and run into it. laughing in a way that isnt funny at all. hm. images pour ever and spill into every crevasse of the home that is my brain. the attic has a leak. i have no one to call and im no handy [wo]man. sigh. im up all night. but instead of pacing and chattering im staring and forgetting how to work my xBox. giving up im laying on the couch and the cats crawl on me. maybe they know whats going on. theyre trying to revive me. reminding me to feed them. telling me its going to be ok. but im useless and i reach to touch them but theyve been gone for hours. at work i cant simply cant hold my smile anymore. my regulars tilt their heads and i can only shrug and say its nothing. doesnt matter. and i disappear into the back room to sit and contemplate the dishes. im exhausted i just want to sleep. the bed is huge. the blankets tangle with my hair and im sore everywhere. this is like a bad wellbutrin commercial. im that girl sighing and crying in them. i see myself on there in these commercials for the medication i cant afford. do it yourself doesnt work well with bipolar. ouch ouchie ouch. the things in the list above help. but somehow im always starving for oxygen and scratching my skin. the week just started. awesome.
lets do it.
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