i will myself to wake, to work, to bed
i fade in and out of consciousness
most days i am threadbare, nestled in chronic unremarkableness
Nov 29, 2009
May 31, 2009
medication needed
depression is a bitch. it won't leave me alone. again and again it rears its ugliness. i'm sick of it. sick.
the last car in the parking lot, i creep through darkened hallways and an empty campus.
i work like a dog during the week. i dress for success. i'm showered with appreciation and praise. the fruits of my labor set me apart. how glorious. what strength!
driving home i ask the road, "who cares," and "what's the point"
then, at home, on weekends, my soft underbelly is exposed and i crumble.
can i be happy?
i don't know.
the last car in the parking lot, i creep through darkened hallways and an empty campus.
i work like a dog during the week. i dress for success. i'm showered with appreciation and praise. the fruits of my labor set me apart. how glorious. what strength!
driving home i ask the road, "who cares," and "what's the point"
then, at home, on weekends, my soft underbelly is exposed and i crumble.
can i be happy?
i don't know.
May 30, 2009
funny how cyclical my life seems to be. this blog seems to illuminate it. somehow, now matter what happens, i always seem to come back to a state of indigo blues.
i have things to report. good things. suspiciously good. surprising things. i earned a M.S. a few weeks ago. it was a relatively painless and short process. and most critically, it was free. this bumps my salary. my godly boss, a VP, is heaven sent - supportive, affirming, entirely positive. he filled my head with a school year's worth of praise. so much so, he's practically got me believing it. what have i done to deserve this? strangely, my new coworkers are as equally kind. all of this diminishes the sting of the institutional dysfunction. and infuriating inertia. on the other hand, i've had great opportunity to contribute, and it's been a liberation.
on the difficult western front - the father is not well post transplant. infections. emergency bowel removal. 5 hour iv's and transfusion. my mother, the nurse, is a saint. a saint. on the eastern front are we - connected by just an electronic thread as she updates me day by day, blow by blow
i have things to report. good things. suspiciously good. surprising things. i earned a M.S. a few weeks ago. it was a relatively painless and short process. and most critically, it was free. this bumps my salary. my godly boss, a VP, is heaven sent - supportive, affirming, entirely positive. he filled my head with a school year's worth of praise. so much so, he's practically got me believing it. what have i done to deserve this? strangely, my new coworkers are as equally kind. all of this diminishes the sting of the institutional dysfunction. and infuriating inertia. on the other hand, i've had great opportunity to contribute, and it's been a liberation.
on the difficult western front - the father is not well post transplant. infections. emergency bowel removal. 5 hour iv's and transfusion. my mother, the nurse, is a saint. a saint. on the eastern front are we - connected by just an electronic thread as she updates me day by day, blow by blow
weekend blahs
it is quiet.
saturday morning - 5 Pm.
he sleeps to my right, but i am alone.
i awoke not long ago too.
haggard.
fatigued.
the air conditioner mushing on.
i am gelatinous.
my head, jelly.
my thoughts, slushy and thick.
i sip on the mcdonald iced coffee that the dog and i procured not long ago on our arduous voyage OUT. at which time she sniffed , and breathed, and inquired while i muddled forward begrudgingly - seeking relief from caustic rays in patches of darkened cement.
why do my guts feel like hulking water balloons?
why is my blemished face bristly?
why do i not know what to do?
saturday morning - 5 Pm.
he sleeps to my right, but i am alone.
i awoke not long ago too.
haggard.
fatigued.
the air conditioner mushing on.
i am gelatinous.
my head, jelly.
my thoughts, slushy and thick.
i sip on the mcdonald iced coffee that the dog and i procured not long ago on our arduous voyage OUT. at which time she sniffed , and breathed, and inquired while i muddled forward begrudgingly - seeking relief from caustic rays in patches of darkened cement.
why do my guts feel like hulking water balloons?
why is my blemished face bristly?
why do i not know what to do?
Feb 7, 2009
Before I die
I want to learn to play http://mp3.rhapsody.com/maria-joao-pires/schumann-piano-concerto-op54-piano-quintet-op44 on the piano
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