Category: Random Voidness

Crying Is For Sissies

I want to make something clear: I DON’T CRY.  Mostly because I’m afraid I won’t stop.  Something triggered the water-works today and for a while I couldn’t get in control of myself.  I screamed, silently, hoping to clear the crying but it only made it worse.  Not until I got down on my knees and pled for the floodgates to close did I finally calm down.  I put a cold damp cloth to my face to hide the evidence.  I don’t cry pretty, and the tell-tale blotches and shiney eyes announce to the world that I’m unstable and will bust into tears at a moments notice.

The trigger was simple enough: I was late on the rent and my ever-patient landlady said I had to stop paying late and I needed to fix it or go to a smaller apartment.  I’ve never felt more like a compete failure as an adult before.  I felt weak, useless, frail and angry all at the same time, and …..here they come again.  I can’t cry here, I’m in public…..

Monsters in my Bed

I know, it wasn’t too long ago I was raving about how much I love my bed.  And I do love my bed.  It’s my own private island.  But now, I’m sensing a more sinister presence, a monster of sorts, in my bed.  When I need to get up, and I’m wide awake and I sorta want to get up, I feel these arms go around me, pulling me back down to the feather bed.  “Oh, five more minutes won’t hurt,” it would whisper to me and I’d close my eyes.  The cycle repeats itself until I’m more exhausted from sleeping and just surrender myself to the monsters arms.  The next thing I know I’ve slept the morning and half the day away and am so torpid and sluggish I feel as though I should just stay there until tomorrow.  I think I talked about tomorrow too.

Yes, I know how demented it sounds to say there is a monster in my bed.  Delusional and paranoid is the clinical terms, I believe.  No, there really isn’t a monster in my bed.  I just can’t deal with the idea that I am the monster, I’m the one who surrenders to the depression or anxiety, (I don’t know which one keeps me abed).  I guess I’m the monster…….

Tomorrow Is Always A Day Away

Little Orphan Annie sings that song in the play. The thing of it is, it’s always a day away. It’s never the now. I have so many grand plans for the ever elusive tomorrow that I give myself on a pass for today. I’ll get up earlier tomorrow. I’ll get my room straightened out tomorrow. I’ll find a job tomorrow. I’ll train Sammy how to poop on command tomorrow. I’ll read a book tomorrow. I’ll get my laundry done tomorrow. I’ll shower tomorrow. I’ll take care of my blood sugar tomorrow. I’ll be happy tomorrow. I’ll be better tomorrow. I won’t be tomorrow. Tomorrow exists in that fleeting nanosecond between tick and tock just as the first chime ring in the new day. Then it’s today, it’s now, it’s never. But, there’s always tomorrow.

Safe in Bed

I am blessed to have a Victorian bed.  It is made from church pews for both head and foot boards.  It stands higher than the norm because the Victorians weren’t fond of sleeping with the household vermin so the cast iron bedrails were placed well above rat reach.  On top of that height I have a standard box spring and matrices so I’m even higher than the average bed is meant to be.  And I love it.  It’s my own private island.  These days it has been my retreat, my solace, my sanctuary  from the world.  Some day I’m going to have to find the will, the energy, the medication to leave it behind and go forward into the world around me and make a mark or two.  But for now, I know I’m safe in bed.