There’s no necessity for a jukebox, but it might be in the corner, gathering dust. The kitchen with all it’s cooking paraphernalia is offscreen too. I see powder blue wall tiles, a chrome-rimmed table jutting from the wall and tan coffee mugs that exude conformity to the wrong decade. The coffee is steaming and still too hot to drink, so I just clutch at the handle. That’s how I imagine a diner late at night. I’d become more aware of other things if it was a real experience, but it’s a made up place for me to get old thoughts out.
I went to bed at 8 pm, and woke up incredibly early, and here we are 2 hours later. I’ve been getting 5-6 hours of sleep each night. That weight upon my chest is persistently present, and the stabbing pain takes longer to go away. The pins and needles are in my hands and feet every day, and have migrated up the left side of my trunk and to both my arms. I can feel them now, even though I have little to worry about right now. Yesterday was pretty great though. Just as far as absent pain goes. I didn’t do so hot on my retake, wasn’t productive with my free time, and was dead tired by 8. To top that off a friend was upset and I did a sub-par job of comforting her. Not that I’m very good at comforting to begin with, but I think I could’ve done a bit better.
That’s just yesterday though. This entire school year has been rough. I feel spread thinner than I normally am. There are few moments of calm and quiet, where I have time to burn. But really, that doesn’t exist, does it? I’m always moving to and fro, and any time devoted to recreational activities makes me feel guilty of wasting time. Time and attention is a limited resource---
How utterly proper that I decided to shelve the discussion there. I stopped writing, stopped the conversation mid-sentence, and I don’t remember what I had wanted to say. I only know that I was spread thin and resolved to not be broken. I wanted to make sure that I had the strength to finish the year as myself and took time each day for mindfulness, and forced myself to go to sleep earlier, but that didn’t last. My resolve never lasts. I’m a weak failure, and will always fail. Here we are much later, and with a whole new mess in my lap. I don’t know where to go from here. I can only stand. Hold fast. That stupid line from Master and Commander stuck with me. I don’t know how I can talk freely when I took an oath to keep it secret. Obviously i am just venting to myself. There is nobody that will read this but me, and yet I can’t talk about it. I’ve talked with others, but I haven’t talked with myself. This is a moment where we learn who we are. This is a moment where I learn who I am, and when I slowed down just a little, I hate it. I try not to swear. I only use swear words to quote others, and find swearing to be crude and unimaginative, though certainly by building a reputation as someone who doesn’t swear, swearing all of a sudden does bring attention to my emotionally excited state. I can’t say that is the case anymore. I’ve been swearing left and right the entire semester. I am infuriated, and anger takes so long to seep out of me. I am filled to the brim with sorrow because of this. I hate being filled with hatred, I hate that I can no longer sit down and ask people how their day is going and fully listen, because my mind is elsewhere. I’m not cut out for my positions. I feel useless, and don’t feel like I’m accomplishing what I set out to do. I don’t think I am maintaining my friendships to the extent that I want to. I feel distant, and almost mechanical. I long to just sit and rest, have caught myself sighing far too frequently. I hold onto grudges, nurse them and raise them even though they’re illegitimate children that should be banished from my sight. I feel as though I shirk my responsibilities, and fear I cannot even vent appropriately. I can’t even stay the course correctly, and ramble on about different things. I want to apologize for my thoughts and shared experiences, and yet that would mean I apologize for being me. for living and interacting with others and daring to share. and I feel like apologizing still despite that. I’m always sorry, always in the wrong. What does it matter that I said something, and why did I repeat it? What am I holding fast to? The parasthesia is still absent, but the anxiety is back. The constant struggle to finish a breath. The war my ribs must fight to keep my hear from breaking through them. I can’t go on much longer. I want to hide, and I want to slow down. I want us to talk. I want people to be honest, and I want people to change. I’ve grown too cynical to hope for change, and eagerly await my departure from the scene. I’ll be a nobody again, with no one to talk to, except my diner friend, and no one to disappoint. What a grand time will be had by all when that occurs. I’m just rambling. I don’t know whether it’s this is worth adding on to or rearranging. I’m just so tired. Exhausted. Spent.
I may have wrote this last year, I’m not sure. It’s certainly been a while since I’ve gotten this far in attempting to write something. I spent a good hour cleaning someone else’s house and washing their dishes to alleviate some of my stress. Why is that? I just wasted more time when I could have been catching up on schoolwork! Is it because by creating a clean space, however small it may be, I am demonstrating to myself I can control the smallest parcel of existence and this calms my self-absorbed ego more than actually doing the very tasks that cause me stress? That I volunteered for? These are all just ramblings. Still tired. This has been brought to you by multiple nights, perhaps in emotionally fragile states, with Daisuke Tanabe’s “Floating Underwater” and Bigelow’s Earl Grey tea.
