Last night I couldn’t sleep. Laying in bed for an hour and I half, I listened to Iron and Wine and felt something heavy resting on my chest. When the room started to spin around 4, I got up, had breakfast, and wrote a paper.
Littered across the floral carpet in our living room are tiny orange pieces. After a moment of brow-furrowing, I notice they are spilling out of a foil bag suggesting they are a miniature cousin of Cheez-its. Branded “Grips.” (ha.)
This weekend, my father broke his toe. After stubbing it, he decided it was no cause for alarm and proceeded to take a 4 mile hike. Upon removing his sock and discovering his toe was purple and deformed, he considered stopping at the emergency room before work. He made sure to leave a half-an-hour early.
Everyone keeps telling me I must be having a panic attacks. I keep shrugging, and not giving a shit whether they are or not. What good is naming something if that’s all you have to say about it?
Lately, I have been constantly dehydrated. No matter how much water I drink or chapstick I apply, I can’t seem to do much about my hard dry lips.
Earlier, I was looking at her sitting where I am now, and I mentioned it was funny how thin the line is between neuroses that incapacitate and those that make an individual highly effective.
I got a new YelloBeat this evening (that time before the sun came up). Went Driving. Almost ran over a woodchuck, or whatever other furry four legged creature that was that ran in my way.
Turning down my street, I got to thinking about dreaming. I don’t regret my dreams – any I had then or still have now. Dreams keep from you shriveling up, keeping you limber until you can make your reality into something you’re pround to claim.