Zombie Days

       If it's not the harrowing 9-5 in creme colored corners and whirring water dispensers, it's the two or three or four hours doing whatever it is you're doing.  When you have but only a few moments of genuine bursts of laughter, but end the night in some sort of trance, without the desire or concern for much anything besides your own comfort, it negates the laughter.  Almost makes the gladness, dew drops of it sprinkled throughout an uneventful day, dissipate entirely as if they never happened, or if they had, become undeserved, bitterly stolen or accidentally dealt and then quickly taken away.

       This isn't apathy.  I know apathy.  I have wandered in the vast deserts of Apathy, and this is not apathy.

       This is life.  Worry.  Unmet expectations.  A lack of vulnerability.  The hermit that never left its shell, but remained warm and tired in the dark thin walls of a familiar casting with cracks.  Why do I always speak in pictures and metaphors?  It's become a language to me; leaving me slightly confused at those who do not speak the same way.

       I just burned my forefinger on a hot glass cylinder (about an inch in diameter, 4 inches tall); after having smothered out my candle by placing a book over the top to suffocate the heat (if you have read previous entries I made the mistake of trying to blow out the candle once, resulting in hot melted wax splattering my unexpected cheeks), the book, for some reason, stuck to the top of the cylinder this time around.  I, all too quickly, used my left forefinger and thumb to grab the tall glass candle (with my right hand holding the book) to pull them away from one another, and did not think the glass would be so searingly painful to touch.  Pain. My fingers are still throbbing, sensitive to the touch, like a million microscopic needles pushing their way into my defenseless skin.  I did, however, realize an important....or maybe not important, but definitely helpful understanding that pain does not usually instigate anger in me.  I am not angry that my finger is in terrible pain, (although I am angry at my slight stupidity), in fact it humors me.  I feel sadness too.  Sad that it hurts when I touch it, because it takes away some of my comfort, but to recognize this brings me happiness too.  I'm ALIVE!  I can feel pain!  Ow.  Every time I touch it, it hurts.  I recoil for a second, then smile.  Recoil/sad then smirk and smile.

       There must be levels for every emotion.  Love, Fear, Joy, Sadness, etc.  I know I'm on to something, but these four walls called "bedroom" do little to foster my thoughts.  I can't think, or I can think, but I don't want to.  This feels heavy, too heavy for now.  I want to relish the light humor of my searing pain from the candle incident.  I want to stay distracted...which now just makes me sad.

       I will continue then, to find some resolve.

       Funny people know when to laugh and when to keep a straight face.  I'm still learning the craft of being funny, because I do think I'm pretty funny, but I laugh too easily/eagerly.

This isn't working.  I'm going to go read.  I have 2 books on loan that need to be returned before I writhe in inconsiderate-ness.

JmeGrey