"Have you ever felt so strung out that you feel completely drained, like everything you have in you was emptied out on the street and stomped on by a very thoughtless child? I can't say I haven't (but I don't have that feeling today). It's amazing the range the pain scale has. From slight sadness to feeling like it's time you expired. A particular one I never could stomach (so to say) was the garden variety episodic numb stabbing pain that radiates from the center of my chest. The polar opposite of that falling in love feeling but just as intense (but then again who knows what love should feel like besides transient palpitations that you mistake for happiness)."
Looking back at my old drafts that were never published, and above is one from 2005... that's almost 10 years ago... what intense feelings I have had have truly passed. These days the days are punctuated by deadlines and aspirations but I seem to achieve these by luck and by reputation. I suppose I work hard enough and watch what I say when not intoxicated. A sense of curiosity and a need to prod my psyche leads me down a winding path. Is this where I have brought myself or is it a mixture of fate and predetermination and did I ever believe in that?
The first paragraph feels so foreign that I don't remember ever typing it. Was it in a time of calm or a time of turmoil? The early years of uni were littered with romantic/disillusioned entanglements that were confusing to say the least. There were moments of striking out and moments of complete anguish. Such contrasts of emotion that caused me to shake in my skin. The intensity made the world barely real around me. I favoured the black and white, the extremes of life and it took me to such dark places. But there was no other way I could've learnt otherwise, at the time.
What a difference a year, several years, make. I sometimes wonder how it all could've been if the extremes had not been extremes, if the black and white ideology didn't exist. It was all so strange to read about borderlines. Like looking into a mirror then. It was like sunlight coming through stormy skies, like a weight being lifted, when it dawned. And then I changed. It was like light and day. It is recent enough that I almost remember.
These days I am drained because the day at work has been long and hard, because there are more deadlines to meet. Maybe it is the imaginary construct my organized self has created to build structure into this otherwise disorganized mind. In my head the ideas exist as blobs of work that finally come together when the end is near. Fleeting concepts get grasped at and materialize.
It's all so foggy still.
Maybe it's just another day
The husband is at work. Maybe I'm just missing him and bored. Idle hands and all that jazz.
Looking back at my old drafts that were never published, and above is one from 2005... that's almost 10 years ago... what intense feelings I have had have truly passed. These days the days are punctuated by deadlines and aspirations but I seem to achieve these by luck and by reputation. I suppose I work hard enough and watch what I say when not intoxicated. A sense of curiosity and a need to prod my psyche leads me down a winding path. Is this where I have brought myself or is it a mixture of fate and predetermination and did I ever believe in that?
The first paragraph feels so foreign that I don't remember ever typing it. Was it in a time of calm or a time of turmoil? The early years of uni were littered with romantic/disillusioned entanglements that were confusing to say the least. There were moments of striking out and moments of complete anguish. Such contrasts of emotion that caused me to shake in my skin. The intensity made the world barely real around me. I favoured the black and white, the extremes of life and it took me to such dark places. But there was no other way I could've learnt otherwise, at the time.
What a difference a year, several years, make. I sometimes wonder how it all could've been if the extremes had not been extremes, if the black and white ideology didn't exist. It was all so strange to read about borderlines. Like looking into a mirror then. It was like sunlight coming through stormy skies, like a weight being lifted, when it dawned. And then I changed. It was like light and day. It is recent enough that I almost remember.
These days I am drained because the day at work has been long and hard, because there are more deadlines to meet. Maybe it is the imaginary construct my organized self has created to build structure into this otherwise disorganized mind. In my head the ideas exist as blobs of work that finally come together when the end is near. Fleeting concepts get grasped at and materialize.
It's all so foggy still.
Maybe it's just another day
The husband is at work. Maybe I'm just missing him and bored. Idle hands and all that jazz.
