I want to bake again. Have people over again. Provide and nourish.
Today I took the first step in taking a free MOOC class about historical fiction. I'm not a huge fan of the genre, but if I'm going to apply to a master program in English, well, I should disapline myself with taking some sort of class and actually doing the readings.
Although, I am behind on the reading for my book review blog. And the book that me and a couple friends picked out for our little book club. :/
But I can't let that stress stop me.
I can't. I have done that too much in the past. I'm tired of it
I'm scared of life.
Of finishing things.
Hell, of *starting* things.
Where did this summer go? I lost time. I wanted to do so much.
Wanted to pay off bills, not go further into debt.
I wanted to read and relax, not somehow become more anxious. (Kelly, refill your meds. REFILL YOUR MEDS)
I need to get out of debt. I need to read and write.
I need to apply to grad school.
I need need need to figure out my sister's baby shower.
I need to figure out a way to pay for that.
I need my month of June back. Before I had my seziure.
I need to call my doctors. For results. For my teeth. For my eyes. For my head.
I need. I need I need.
I said I want to create again. And I don't know how.
A quilt for my sister's baby.
A succussful blog. A successful garden.
Successful marriage. I'm struggling in my head. I'm scared I'm scared I'm scared and I want everything to stop. I need more time. I'm freaking out. (KELLY REFILL YOUR MEDS)
But I don't want to. I want to crash and burn again. To then rebuild again.
Instead of trying to repair my brokeness. My broken house.
Sometimes we just need to give up to get anywhere.
But I'm scared to do anything.
I need to put one foot in front of the other.
A step yes. But if I ask anyone to hold me accountable, I freeze. I lie. I ignore and push away.
The things I promised myself. and others. just weigh down on me.
Weigh me down.
Why can't i follow through?
Why can't i live?
Why can't i give up?
Why can't i focus
or want anything.
Why can't i have time.
Why haven't i cried in months?
Why haven't I had sex in months?
What's wrong with me.
and no, therapy won't solve anything
I just feel anxious about me. about it. Everything lies.
I've spent enough years with my face arranged in books. I've read enough to crush my sternum. In each of the books are people talking, saying the same thing, their tongues slim and white and speckled with the words.
Behind her eyes were also stairwells, which also led to something gone.
It replaced the definitions of certain words in dictionaries no one would ever open.
Milk all through the years in lather leather held out only by an idea.
The man said I am sorry I could not remember but now I remember many things I think and as time progresses I will continue to remember more things and there will be more things to remember.
He turned around and found the world.
[...] time catching time there where time had meant never to be.
Curds of syntax mad in old names.
I might look down and find my arms there typing language and believe the language and know it was or I would look down and find the words there in my body written always, I could hold my body as a book, [...]