Instead of Sleeping

 

 

I break my heart and dissect it each night.

The evening is when I reflect on life, on my soul

And often find myself writing my life

Instead of sleeping.

I ask myself continually what it is I need from others

And I know the answer is nothing

I know this in my head

But my heart… my heart goes on longing

Like a ship-captains’ bride awaiting the return of its lover from sea

But he never comes.

The longing becomes an ache.

 

I go on.

I function and even find happiness

Until I sit and reflect again,

Again with insomnia, asking

Always asking

Just what is it?

What does the heart want?

What do you expect?

Is it seriously total love all day every day

From every corner of the world?

Are you that needy? If so why?

I ask my heart these things

And during the daylight

I have all the answers.

What a glorious damned day

Been playing at this one book for years, finally wrote it and now I am full of angst about whether or not I should just print it for myself or actually sell it. And I want to talk about it but there’s no-one really to talk to about it. So here I am.

My site has cobwebs, no-one has been here in so long, including me. Need to get to my class work but can’t focus. Urgh. Coffee and go! Motivate! (I just want to hide in bed all day. Perhaps I deserve it, I have been writing 12 and 14 hrs a day for over a week. Edits, re-writes.) No wonder I lack motivation.

Also, I get no encouragement and pats on the back these days and that is hard. I am writing in a tunnel, a vacuum and that is so so hard.

Maybe I need to switch to arting for a couple days. Getting on with my day. It really is a glorious day.

Life. October 14th.

Ugh, angst, the cloud of depression trying to raise its head, feeling even older than my years… Just ugh.

Today is the 14th. I’m good, really, but dealing with some allergy issues and annoying things. I guess I’m one of those artsy-fartsy, melancholy, prone-to-the-above-list-of-things kinda person. And that gets annoying, too. Sometimes I want to be able to take a vacay from myself.

The virus/pandemic mess just exacerbates the other. And the political climate-(God please let this election get over with already so I don’t have to think about this every f-ing day.) 

I’ve been thinking about how most people seem to lack imagination, and I’m over here with overmuch. An abundance. Too much, even.

I can imagine way too many things, too many scenarios, too many thoughts that others are having, too many reasons and answers for questions large and small. I can imagine entire worlds and universes. I know there are no new thoughts under the sun, I’m not that unique, but I imagine that I am and that I am going to think up everything, things that others before me have never thought.

I get lost in my head (if that isn’t obvious).

I am trying how to learn to live in the moment. To live each moment of every hour and every day, not over-thinking, not imagining threads of various outcomes for the future, on the scale of my life and the larger scale of our country and our planet, but the here and the now. 

And I do meet so many people who seem to have zero imagination. They just accept everything. They cannot imagine a better life or a different life, they believe every answer anyone ever gives them and question nothing.

I don’t understand people who aren’t lost in their heads all the time, they seem like a different species to me and I find myself envious at times. How much easier, more peaceful it must be. To know everything, (or think you do, you have it all lined out, figured out, you want for nothing more of knowledge or change). No seeking, no wondering or wandering, just peaceful acceptance.

It occurs to me that I have had times in my life like that, but I can’t get back to it. I’ve turned some unknown corner and it unleashed my imagination in new ways, and I can’t get it to go back. Don’t really want to.

Probably this won’t make sense to anyone but me but that’s okay. Just journaling the thoughts out. Word vomit.

Now back to the dailiness of trying to figure out what’s for dinner. The universe can wait.