restless musing
i used to have white teeth. they used to be straight, white, perfect. i used to get compliments on my teeth.
but now - after years of smoking, drinking, endless amounts of coffee, refusal to wear the obligatory retainer - they're faded. they look gray-ish in this early morning light.
i used to be able to sleep. now it's 5:30 in the morning, and i've been up for hours. i've read a hundred pages, i've tossed and turned, brushed my teeth, stared at myself in the mirror.
living alone is odd. there's no one to bother if you're restless, no one to remind you that you're still here, nothing to touch to assure you that you still exist. i feel invisible, when it's 5:30 in the morning and my head is pounding but i don't know if it's due to the wine i drank alone last night, from the sleep deprivation, or because i've been thinking too hard lately.
i regret to admit i've been listening to far too much damien rice lately. don't be too disappointed in me.
this weekend has been odd, disconcerting. a blur of pain, pain killers, half awake days, sleepless nights. i'm healed now, the surgery is a friday memory, but i don't feel right yet. i haven't had any more interaction than people calling and texting to see if i need more soup or ice cream to nurse me through, but i've truthfully been fine since saturday, i'm not just being stubbornly independent, but i work with an overload of jewish mothers who can't be satisfied with tired reassurances.
i miss physical touch, i crave it, and it's not here. i feel like i forget that my boyfriend exists, despite the presents sent and the exchanges of love, but he isn't here, no one here really knows him, his absence is palpable and he's the only one who can fill the void. i need to touch him, for him to be in my apartment, to feel his arms around me, to prove to me that i'm not alone and what we have is real, that it exists, that i'm not just imagining my happiness with him and that these lonely nights aren't just a result of my overarching pathetic-ness.
i need to do something i'm proud of - at work, at home. i need to prove to myself that i can work hard on something i want to do, on something i care about, and on my own terms. i can't voice my disappointment over my lack of autonomy at work, i can't express how sad i am that i care so little about what i do. one project, one release, one paper, one speech, one something, to prove to myself i still care about the causes i felt so strongly about just months ago, to prove that i didn't really burn out this quickly, that i can survive.
to myself and to them.
"And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky"
but now - after years of smoking, drinking, endless amounts of coffee, refusal to wear the obligatory retainer - they're faded. they look gray-ish in this early morning light.
i used to be able to sleep. now it's 5:30 in the morning, and i've been up for hours. i've read a hundred pages, i've tossed and turned, brushed my teeth, stared at myself in the mirror.
living alone is odd. there's no one to bother if you're restless, no one to remind you that you're still here, nothing to touch to assure you that you still exist. i feel invisible, when it's 5:30 in the morning and my head is pounding but i don't know if it's due to the wine i drank alone last night, from the sleep deprivation, or because i've been thinking too hard lately.
i regret to admit i've been listening to far too much damien rice lately. don't be too disappointed in me.
this weekend has been odd, disconcerting. a blur of pain, pain killers, half awake days, sleepless nights. i'm healed now, the surgery is a friday memory, but i don't feel right yet. i haven't had any more interaction than people calling and texting to see if i need more soup or ice cream to nurse me through, but i've truthfully been fine since saturday, i'm not just being stubbornly independent, but i work with an overload of jewish mothers who can't be satisfied with tired reassurances.
i miss physical touch, i crave it, and it's not here. i feel like i forget that my boyfriend exists, despite the presents sent and the exchanges of love, but he isn't here, no one here really knows him, his absence is palpable and he's the only one who can fill the void. i need to touch him, for him to be in my apartment, to feel his arms around me, to prove to me that i'm not alone and what we have is real, that it exists, that i'm not just imagining my happiness with him and that these lonely nights aren't just a result of my overarching pathetic-ness.
i need to do something i'm proud of - at work, at home. i need to prove to myself that i can work hard on something i want to do, on something i care about, and on my own terms. i can't voice my disappointment over my lack of autonomy at work, i can't express how sad i am that i care so little about what i do. one project, one release, one paper, one speech, one something, to prove to myself i still care about the causes i felt so strongly about just months ago, to prove that i didn't really burn out this quickly, that i can survive.
to myself and to them.
"And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky"