Note: Please do NOT take my entries personally and seriously. This is, after all, a blog, and should not IN ANY WAY be interpreted as a “window to the soul.” Huh? What? The eyes are the windows to the soul, you say? Yeah, of course, they are. I was just playing with words.
I am sleepless at 1:00 A.M., and having turned the lights on and off a couple of times, I finally decided to type—with the lights off, by the way—these thoughts down in REAL TIME, as I feel it or plagued by it, in fact. Then maybe I could have my peace.
Contrary to the toss-and-turn cliché, I was motionless and sleepless, and suddenly it hit me: I could die in my sleep one night and nobody would come looking the next day. So as not to risk being called pathetic and a wallower, let me put this in the right context:
A boss would suppose I just decided to quit without notice. Because I’ve done that before. It’s my bad.
Friends would say, “Hmm I haven’t heard from her today. Nothing unusual.”
My family would think this: “She claims to be self-sufficient. Until it’s time to pay the rent and she suddenly runs out of cash.”
The landlord is surprised to see me at home.
My neighbors could never tell when I’m home and when I’m not.
And when I’m do home, I lock myself in, totally enjoying the feel of Me-ness (not meanness), that nobody could ever tell when I’m inside my apartment or not. I’m perfectly okay having my fun being alone that nobody really knows when I’m no longer okay. Honestly, I find nothing wrong with the setup. Until tonight, and until these thoughts: SH*T! I COULD DIE IN MY SLEEP, AND NOBODY WOULD KNOW UNTIL I ROT AND STINK. And even then they’d probably just think I left home without bringing out my garbage. But then again, that will most likely elicit a complaint from the neighbors, and then . . . Well I think I’d be found after all. Whew!
Finally, some comfort. Because I’d hate it if I’d need to rot beyond recognition before people I care about start the search. And I’d totally hate it if they find me here decomposing. That’d be ugly. And I’d really hate THAT.
Okay, I think I can go sleep now. Sweet dreams.
25 June 2006, Sunday
She runs marathons in the comforts of her living room,
Where it doesn’t matter if the sun burns high.
With old shoes she jogs her way to Rome
Or barefoot she sprints along the shores of Hawaii.
And in her sweaty clothes she goes to weddings
To laugh and cry and take road trips for the soul.
And she pauses and stops at no one else’s bidding,
For in her hand she holds the remote control.
Or she runs these miles on a make-believe treadmill,
Running too fast just to stay in place.
And she likes to keep stains on the coffee table
In an attempt to steal from Past’s suitcase.
She believes she hears them cheer and yell,
As speed blurs recognition of a voice or face.
But the trophy’s been won that much she can tell,
For while she trains hard she knows that it’s not her race
And that she can’t keep on running.
22 June 2006, Thursday
Regret is burnt sugar
Pathos—an angel with half a wing
Or Black being the absence of color
As the mermaid’s song
Is a sailor’s tale
Purpose is a stamp on a traveler’s passport
As Happiness is her flight home
Disappointment is you–
Clouding the sky
On the eve of a full moon
Pulling the blinds shut
Before it started raining stars.
13 January 2006, Friday