Job. A new one would be great. In times such as these I should be grateful that I am employed. This is not the right moment to go job hunting, is it? I wish working was a choice and not a necessity. It just seems to get in the way.
Scattered thoughts are beginning to be the normal. They are consuming me. There is no cohesion. How can I make sense of anything in this condition? Broken. Shattered. Days … weeks … seasons … gone. Years? “And Summers and Winters scattered like splinters… and four or five years slipped away.” ~Jimmy Buffet
Am I doing enough?
Lost: Motivation; Found: Not a damn thing.
The Poet Hiding Within hasn’t been updated in one year (Last post: 04/02/2008). I haven’t written a poem in that year. Not one.
Is finishing university my way out of this hell hole? If it is … how the heck do I manage that feat while maintaining a full time job (ugh) and continuing to raise two boys?
I have been let down. It feels as though I was dropped on my skull. Oh, I’m sorry … is that my brain matter on your shoes?
Stop the planet. I want to get off.
Strength. People (known and new to me) are always commenting on how strong I am. I don’t want to be strong anymore. Can’t someone just carry me for a little while?
The size of my ass is no longer acceptable. Not that it was EVER acceptable …
Is it too much to ask for some sort of hint (a very tiny one will do) on why I am where I am and what I am expected to do while I am here?
My passport expired. Think about that. It hasn’t been used in 10 years. TEN YEARS. Even sadder is the fact that I didn’t renew it because I know there is no hope ($$$) of me going anywhere anytime soon. Wanderlust strangled. No wonder I am dying on the inside.
I’m actually irritated by ignored friend requests on Facebook from people I knew really, really well. Why do I care? Why the hell do I care???
There is not enough time to write. I only posted four blog entries in the month of March 2009. Thirty-one days and I only managed to squeak out four posts. My exact thoughts on this subject can not be expressed without a rather long and colorful string of profanity.
It would be nice if I could figure out how to sleep like a normal person.
You know those people who feel like they are alone even when they are in a crowd of people? I used to pity those people. I used to wonder what was wrong with those people. I’ve suddenly realized, bizarrely enough, that I have become one of those people. I pity me. I wonder what is wrong with me. How did this happen?
I’m listening. Intently. Static is all I am getting.
“Is there anything else on your mind that I should know about? There are all sorts of twists and cul-de-sacs. It’s wild!” ~Firefly, TV Series (2002)