Every time I try to compose a thought in my brain, I can't. It's always incomplete, what I am thinking and feeling.
It's life. Bad things happen. I feel like this is the mantra people have been shouting at me loud and clear. But it still sucks.
And I have been here before. And it still sucks. Having experience doesn't make death easier. Having experience doesn't make life that much easier either.
and I can't write. and this is what happened last time. Write they tell you, when you are stressed and need to get things off your chest. But I can't. I can't write when I feel this way. Like a ball of endless tension and energy is invading my stomach wanting to explode from me. But it doesn't. It stays bottled up-stored away for another day another time.
I wish it was fast. This dying thing. When it is slow and you have to think about it, have to care for someone experiencing it, there is no good way to be. Except to ball up this tension, this energy. Store it away for another day.
I wish it was fast. This dying thing.
3 comments:
oh kat... i don't know what's going on with you, but i'm wishing you the best in getting through it.
thanks friend. Lots of rough things. we should catch up sometime. Talk about grad school and shit.
i thin a part of me died this year. i can't rightly pinpoint the date, but pieces of me died. yet, there was a birth i witnessed, and in many ways a birth involving my soul. tonight, sitting on my balcony w/ a cold beer in hand, i know some things: birth & death. thanks for writing!
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