09 November 2003 16:12

slimy, dark

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i am congested and feeling lightheaded and miserable and mean. this is an ideal frame of mind in which to write, i think. i want to feel forward motion again. i want to be able to get rid of things without regret. i want to be able to sit quietly and let time pass and not have the panicky sense that everything is decomposing and that i will shortly cease to exist. i would like to stop feeling wasteful. it's fine. things will be fine. this is the cold and/or the medicine talking. this is confusion and job dissatisfaction and a less-than-healthy tendency toward melancholy talking. okay, this is me talking, but i refuse to suck myself down the slimy dark pipeline of feeling-like-nothing-will-work-out. so there. also: the opossum was the week before last. i stand corrected. love, might