Monday, April 04, 2005
I haven't been sleeping well... consistent nights of restful sleep haven't been happening for me. Dreams that I dream aren't dreams... they're slow and endless loops of the past; framed memories frozen in gray like vintage photos.
March is my month of mourning. It's a weird cosmic irony that my father's birthday and the events of his death 15 years ago occupy the same month each year, before the April Easter season. Old wounds remain raw, and it is me, not them, that somehow grows more callous... a callousness that conceals a festering bitter resentment against an endless laundry list of things both tangible and intangible. As much as I try to restrain my own negativity, the floodgates can't stay closed by virtue of trying alone.
The Universe. Time. Circumstances. Humanity. Even some of the people in my life. All nourishment for the personal bonsai tree of discontentment hidden in a cracked surface of my soul. Even prayer has seemed a solitary exercise again... I dial, but no one picks up. Just like 15 years ago.
And now, just like then, disappointment is a familiar weight to carry.
If I could project my feelings in an audible 15 foot radius around me, it would sound a little like this... Ghostwriter. (right-click & "save target as")
Words don't come so easily in the morning... I want to go back to sleep, and wake up sometime other than now.
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