This is my morning. I think of something to write, and this is what happens
fuck, I shouldn’t write that, or no, I don’t mean that… shit! This is my thought, and dammit, I’m going to say it… OR NOT
Okay, nerves… please come up with something coherent to say. Anything, anything at all, that doesn’t involve pissing off the whole world. Please stop being a ticking time bomb. Who knows what the hell is wrong with me? (Everyone says I’m being pretty normal considering all of the crap going on in my life with the shitty apartment management, my clients thinking I’m Jesus Christ with all of the answers (which is pretty close to what I have to be with my relatively useless company management)), my routine getting thrown off every time I turn around, Atlanta traffic, and worrying about my clients’ health.) All I know is that I have to get over this crap in about 45 minutes because I have to be in the car to go to work. I’ve brought my weird mood to work a few times, and I feel terrible. My clients have problems, like REAL ones, and here I am feeling bleh and misunderstood. At least I have them in my life. At least I have people in my life. (But do I tell them my innermost thoughts? Hell no. They have their own. I believe in things left unsaid.)
I remember when in my mind, I had no one. It was empty as hell. It was hell. It was hell not telling anyone what was happening to me. It was hell not being able to reach out. I remember all of the apology letters I would write when I would come to my senses and be able to rationalize it all. I remember my thoughts on what I would say when I would finally say how sad it was to separate from my best friends that I was VERY close to for three years. I was closer to them than anyone else in my life, even my own family that is FINALLY beginning to understand me (as they watch my cousin go through a worse hell than I could ever imagine). They were there for me when no one else was, when everyone else was busy. And I was there for them. I felt more like THEY were my family than my menopausal mother and my stepfather who, bless his heart, worked all the time to support the farm. I felt more like THEY were my friends than my true ones that could not wrap their heads around anything but themselves (for the most part). My generation is selfish as fuck, and I hate 90 percent of their ilk. And everyone wonders why I walk around with a stitched heart that I am desperately trying to put together? Everyone wonders why I am trying to gain my
old self back identity as a caretaker and fix this fucked-up world. Yes, I have been trying to push this large chip off my shoulder that probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.
::sighs:: Now that I got that off my chest, perhaps I could move onto writing my heart out on lamenting the loss of my heart for things I used to love. I’m just now spam listening to metal, which is how I used to start every morning. I’m going to get back on the routine I used to have in the morning: use the restroom, wash my hands, get dressed, brush my teeth, brush my hair, put on deodorant, clean my ears, put perfume on, drink a second cup of coffee, and head to work. Of course, I have fifteen minutes to do so now. Yes, I spent 30 minutes formulating my thoughts this morning. Keep in mind that I did a lot of scratch-outs, deleting lines entirely, switching which songs I would listen to, and paying attention to my fiancé playing Hearthstone (which is part of my routine after work when I get home).
Xara Nahara O’Connor