effing around

[some kind of story here about what its been like]  Anxiety has been percolating in my body lately. I used to mistake the low humming of this feeling for idle hands syndrome, feeding it with lots of work that would do the body good.

[look at how happy she used to be]

in adolescence I used to be able to stay up all night and revel in the silence of the world, content to hide under the sheets, think and write bad poetry.  but thats more of a luxury I can’t afford anymore.

[picture of her now, wit ha sneer..]

mundane.  bland. boring.

new work

I suppose it is a fitting end to an era; a time full of promise and possibility and a whole lot of mistakes.  Like a phoenix burned to ashes in its final flight of blazing glory, unfolding its brokenness and making do with whatever is left.

Or maybe, its more like a fish.  Steeped in the pollution of the santa monica bay, irridescent flashes in the moonlight.

regardless.  finding a new life feels like trying on clothes made of raw wool.  your sight sees and registers soft, but your skin feels and registers nettles, scraping the shit off those parts of your body that you barely want to look at.

I wake up a little numbed for the process.  as if it never existed.  as if it didn’t matter.  And then there is the tapping on my shoulder, “Mommy, watch choo choo train. Wite now.”

“Good morning son.” I say.