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greenstormEverything feels soft. With the rain, the air and the blankets on mom's couch warmed by my own body heat and the bed where Chris lies warm and asleep and the inside of my long sweater and even the seats in the sandwich shop are fur-lined cradles. They do not, quite, suck me in with irresistable force. Instead, the world has become the same kind of sensual pleasure as stroking a cat.
Is this exhaustion, is this the warm wet rainy air, is this having a home? It's how I feel, floating along through the sea of isolationist sensory impressions.
I notice that I don't automatically lean towards people today, as I so usually do.
I'm discussing a load of compost for my new garden with Juggler, should think about it with Chris as well. Seeds need to be started soon. I don't know what the rest of today will be like, but I hope it's over quickly. I need to get on with the rest of my life.
This is what I think when I'm walking:
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I can’t explain, you would not understand.
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.
That's Pink Floyd.
The world is full of the spaces between people.
I find I feel bad when people discuss the fun they've been having. I haven't had time to do the things I really want to this month.
Is this exhaustion, is this the warm wet rainy air, is this having a home? It's how I feel, floating along through the sea of isolationist sensory impressions.
I notice that I don't automatically lean towards people today, as I so usually do.
I'm discussing a load of compost for my new garden with Juggler, should think about it with Chris as well. Seeds need to be started soon. I don't know what the rest of today will be like, but I hope it's over quickly. I need to get on with the rest of my life.
This is what I think when I'm walking:
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I can’t explain, you would not understand.
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.
That's Pink Floyd.
The world is full of the spaces between people.
I find I feel bad when people discuss the fun they've been having. I haven't had time to do the things I really want to this month.
