(no subject)
when I read through my old posts, I cannot help but think that I sound annoying. I'm stuck on a piece for my creative writing class. I started looking through old journals and poems that I've written to try to spark up inspiration.... instead I'm sitting at my computer crying like a moron... I think there's more than one reason that I'm stuck on this paper.
It's February 9th. which means it's been two years since I lost my dad. It's been really hard... and every time I think about it, I feel like it's 2009 all over again. and I'm stuck in this harsh awful reality but my brain's not even working. It's like the memory is so painful that thinking about it causes time to stop. I know that sounds dramatic... but that is what it's like. And then I strain my mind some more to try to imagine his voice... I've forgotten. I can't hear it in my head anymore. For weeks after he died, I would call his cell phone just to listen to this voicemail... Thinking about it, I can clearly picture me lying in bed, curled up in a ball, crying, calling him.
We have three prompts to choose from for this paper. and for every one, I keep thinking about Dad. We have to read our papers to the class so I'm obviously not going to be able to read that... not today... probably not ever. One of the prompts is asking about the things that I regret the most. One- that is SUPER personal to read to a class full of strangers that I'm starting to dislike. And two- no.
It's February 9th. which means it's been two years since I lost my dad. It's been really hard... and every time I think about it, I feel like it's 2009 all over again. and I'm stuck in this harsh awful reality but my brain's not even working. It's like the memory is so painful that thinking about it causes time to stop. I know that sounds dramatic... but that is what it's like. And then I strain my mind some more to try to imagine his voice... I've forgotten. I can't hear it in my head anymore. For weeks after he died, I would call his cell phone just to listen to this voicemail... Thinking about it, I can clearly picture me lying in bed, curled up in a ball, crying, calling him.
We have three prompts to choose from for this paper. and for every one, I keep thinking about Dad. We have to read our papers to the class so I'm obviously not going to be able to read that... not today... probably not ever. One of the prompts is asking about the things that I regret the most. One- that is SUPER personal to read to a class full of strangers that I'm starting to dislike. And two- no.