(no subject)
For the first time in months I actually have a story idea brewing in my mind. . .I know I should sit down and write it, but it does not seem quite the right time. . .Then again, if I wait too long, I may lose the artistic drive to write it. Plans for this coming Saturday have been distracting me from inspecting the turmoil within me. . .It seems everytime my sorrow and bitterness stares me in the face, I run to D. for some momentary relief. I am not even certain if it helps. . .But it makes me forget for a brief time the inward pain and the memories of the one who I must avoid for my own sanity. . .The one who I must face Saturday and pretend that everything is well in the world for. I do not want to be weak anymore, I do not want to ache anymore.
My head is going under once more.
My head is going under once more.