I feel like I woke up and got dragged through broken glass and used needles before I managed to even put a shirt or panties on. It’s not even half ten in the morning yet.
Screaming, lightening headache turning migraine roused me from a restless, nightmare riddled sleep. Didn’t have any water next to the bed and I was drenched in cold sweat. Fringe partially stuck to my forehead and wet, the rest of my hair kinked and begging to be washed free of thoughts. My whole body felt clammy and cold but I was hot, hot, hot. Too hot to touch, I feared setting my sheets ablaze with my temperature.
Next came feeling around for my telephone, it had gotten lost in the blankets and I was half happy to play the finding game if only to prolong what sadness hadn’t settled in for the day quite yet.
Wrapped my stiff fingers around the slender rectangle and struggled to grip. Pressed the home button and saw a couple of notifications: Instagram, WordPress and word of the day telling me today’s word is pari passu which means at an equal rate or pace. The first few I ignored but the latter interested me, I love expanding my vocabulary. Couldn’t help but notice there was no message from you…. I didn’t expect it, never do, just sometimes I feel like I kinda need it and hope that maybe you’ve got some sixth sense that lets you know or maybe you’re just in the mood for a chat. But I guess you’re only human and so am I.
I couldn’t bring myself to get up so I started to guess it was going to be one of those days, flicked on an old film I used to love but hadn’t seen in years. It’s called Paris, Texas. Ry Cooder scored it and the acting is brilliant. It’s a transformative film, gets you feeling.
I hadn’t eaten more than two pieces of toast in the last two days but I wasn’t hungry. Climbed the ladder to the ground floor of the house, no one believes me when I say I live in an unfinished house so if a ladder instead of stairs doesn’t get you to understand then nothing will. Walked through makeshift walls made of old linen and building grade staples into the ‘kitchenlounge’, poured myself a glass of cloudy apple juice and swallowed a glucosamine and chondroitin pill the size of my acrylic thumbnail.
Then my brother said something really mean. Like, cruel mean. Like, you wouldn’t say it to your most hated foe. And I didn’t know what to say back because I’m not mean in nature. So I just stared into his eyes and noticed that they were totally blank, totally honest and unreserved and felt tears welling in mine. I asked him how he could be so awful and he told me to “fuck off”, so I did.
I watched my mother cry today. She’s generally pretty hidden in any emotion, shrouds herself with monotone colours and speech. She loves jazz music and plays guitar really well, she’s rhythmic and soulful but I’m pretty sure she’s from another planet. I’ve only ever seen her cry once before in my life, when her father died and it was ten years ago now, almost to the day. It hurt me more than I think she was hurt to be crying today. She told me she thinks she wasn’t there for us enough when we were growing up and that’s why we never got along, I told her we are just two individuals and if he can’t get along with me then it is his problem not mine. Because I’m just kickin’ it in my bedroom with a book in hand and pencil between my teeth and music blaring or films rolling when I’m here, in the place I thought was my home.
Sometimes I hit refresh on repeat hoping you’ll post something to read so I can drift away on your words for a minute. But mostly I just sit tap, tap, tapppping on my keyboard until something makes sense to me. I have about a million files saved as untitled containing a couple of discarded sentences and I can’t remember what for. I try to find inspiration that isn’t seated in romance or sadness but I can’t, don’t know what else to write about because nothing else seems to matter all that much. Just want to walk down that beach and right into that sunset with you and if you break my heart well I guess I’d write about that if I could manage to carry on sensing.
Today I left my heart on the unfinished, chipboard floor and watched it pulsing. I pushed it around with my toes and surveyed thick, burgandy liquid ooze out and stain everything. It made me feel more alive to see it torn from my chest, like I was free because I didn’t have to worry about loving anyone or whatever. I was fascinated with this organ, it makes you suffer so very many things, makes you do stupid shit and then it won’t just stop beating when you want it to just because you’ve had enough and given up. It keeps you alive and let’s you broil in humiliation, let’s you deteriorate slowly, slowly, excrutiatingly slowly.