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I said I would do this every day. I guess I lied, to you and to myself. It is already the 7th of March and not one have I laid across the screen save for the ones I am writing now. I do however; write in my online journal religiously, so why can't I remember to write here? I made the choice to do this because I wanted to get back into my writing and I thought if I did this, it would spark the interest in me to finish writing my books. Well look how far this got me
I have to say that my life has been an endless battle for me. I have never found an answer to that timeless question of "Why the hell am I here anyway?" I keep coming up with other questions on top of that one question and then I forget what the original question was. Rather amusing to be honest and at the same time, it makes me shudder to think that I cannot find an answer, because there isn't one at all. Maybe I ‘m not really here at all. Maybe, just maybe, I am over there just looking in.
Did you ever love someone, even knowing that they did not love you? Did you even care? Have you ever stomped on someone's heart just to watch it bleed and then wither away until there was nothing left but an empty husk? What are emotions that we can easily turn toward one person with a heart so filled with the magic of love and yet we can turn our backs on someone else, who may have that same emotion glowing out of every pore on their body for us and we simply choose to not to see it at all?
I sat in my chair and watched you as you snored lightly in slumber. Your face was gentled after a hard day's work and no longer was that ever-present frown apparent. I saw your lips move into a brief smile and I wondered, prayed reverently that you might be dreaming of me. I had to smile myself as you murmured softly, incoherent words and something about tickling you in that secret spot that only you and I know of. Love swept through me like a cool summers breeze, and I climbed into bed and fell toward peaceful slumber with you.
Making up for lost time is never an easy task. I always feel as if I am rushing and I know that in fact I am. I wonder if what I do is good enough. I wonder if I had just started when I was supposed to, if I would have done something better, with more clarity and perseverance than what I am capable of doing now. I have to ask myself if it is worth the effort to continue now, when I am so far behind and yet, I know the answer to that already. Oh yes, I will!
I have written, already far more than I thought I would in one sitting.. Where are all these words coming from? I am just one woman, some have said my mind is not the sharpest and others have told me there is genius quality lying deep and dormant because I simply refuse to let it out into the spotlight. I guess it is because I like the mind I am using. I see nothing wrong with simplicity mixed with small shots of vividness and alarming reality. It makes for a mild form of chaotic sweetness that I find quite charming
The hour grows increasingly late and I still sit here tapping away at well-worn keys on the keyboard in order to complete just one more sentence. I need but one more phrase; precise and delicate to make this jumbled mass of thoughts make any sense to anyone at all. And yet to me, even misshapen and twisted here and there, the words all have perfect clarity for. Maybe it is I who am twisted and bent like an old forlorn tree in a yard somewhere. Maybe I am just too comfortable within my shell and what is wrong with that?
Oh catching up can be such fun. Running around in endless circles, falling somewhat ungracefully into a routine that everyone else here is following. Yes! To be one with the rat race of humanity and yet oh so different in a secret little cult of realism and dreams all rolled into one jumbled mass of precise wording. We are the few, the oh so proud and humbled masses who have had the fortune, or should that be misfortune to have put ourselves into magic and chaotic bliss of telling our short stories to whomever comes across these one hundred words.
A friend wrote about shadows today. How they creep forward and try to take over her meager grip on life, on reality. I know how she feels. My shadows are lengthening. They will swallow and let me fall into the pit of despair. The pain inside me is like a raging storm. I feel like a fisherman, trying to get out of a windswept swell and on his way home. He is lost and frightened in a darkened sea. Yes, that is I in my entirety. The trick is, to wake up and open the curtains so the shadows disappear.
I am going to take words from one of my favorite songs. Because I do want run, I want to hide. I want to tear down the walls that trap me inside. I want to run, I want to break free. I can't remember the rest. But yes, I would like that. I want to be able to have my life be the way I want it and not the way you or the guy in the truck behind me who is flipping me off because he thinks my going the speed limit is insane, thinks I should live it.
My world tonight consists of a dark haze that is swirling and filled with angry, misguided thoughts. I just want to scream and lash out at the people and circumstances I am faced with. I know deep down that my resentment towards everything is truly unnecessary and untoward but all I want to say to that logic is a firm and resounding, "So What!" What is life if we always have to be conscientious over every little thing we do or say? Life is a never-ending carnival that only ends when we run out of tickets for the main show.
I am sitting here, the fan is whirling above my head and my husband's light snores bounce off the wooden blades to land loudly upon my offended ears. I want to take up my pillow and toss it onto his peaceful, boyish face to startle him awake and tell him he snores. But for some inexplicable reason, I don't. Instead, I sit here and type and listen to his snores get louder and I wait, until my feet get icy from being wrapped in a wet towel and facing the outside, opened door and then I shall take my revenge!
It amazes me how the simple art of the human speech, be it through sign language, Russian, Greek, English or Hebrew, can affect the way a person may think or act. The single word "no" can have so many connotations to it and can even stop a war from starting. Words can make you laugh, and they can make you weep. They can rush over you like a summer's breeze on a perfect day and they can shatter against you like a bullet to a pane of glass. Words are just as easily spoken as they can be held within.
It annoys me to a great extent to realize that all the words I have been putting here are for the most part negative. This of course needs to change but it does not look as if I am going to venture forth and put up the effort to do so at this precise moment in time. Why you ask. I'll tell you this much, it is because I do not want to. To put it plainly, I am in a foul disposition and so I shall put it here to let it all wither away until someone sees it.
It is amazing what can happen when you take a moment to breathe. In just that instant, such momentous life altering changes can occur that you are left stunned and disillusioned or simply lost and staring with your mouth open as the world recovers and speeds on by you. Now, rather than count my dearly departed losses, I must scramble to keep up with the rapidly forming bits of information that the world tosses my way without a moments notice and without being kind enough to halt, and give me that split second satisfaction of taking one deep breath in.
I'm lost in translation. It's a total aggravation and I'm caught in the dark. I am spinning round in circles, the ride keeps going faster and I think I want to get off. I'm a hopeless creation, wafting up on heavy sedation only to sink back down again. I want to feel the rhythm, get caught up in the dance. Like colors in a prism, seduction, light, romance. I am older than I want to be, younger than I ought to be and so misunderstood. I am ageless. I am timeless. I'm caught up in the fineness of it all.
I wish I could go back in my youth and fix all the moments in my life that I look back on now and can only hang my head and cringe at. It seems so incredible to me that in only thirty-six years of life, I could have made so many damned mistakes. I should, I know be grateful that not one of those mistakes cost anyone a heartache, a life. They are only bad to me. Anyone looking on them might shrug or laugh and tell me that things that happened then or now are just meant to be.
What's the matter with the world today that for some inane reason everyone has to be distrustful and downright mean to one another? No longer will the young guy who just wants to see the country around him, get picked up on the side of the road by a family who just happens to be going his way. What if you needed to call someone for help? Oh no! Everyone is supposed to have his or her own way to get there or own a cell phone. No one is to be trusted these days and Big Brother is watching.
Day to day life amazes me, even after thirty-six years of existence. How can it be that some people will work two or three jobs just to keep their heads above water and do it without complaint and there are still too many people who will work one, get paid to extremes and still bitch that they do not make enough money or have to do the "grunt" work? Just once I would like to see those who are complaining so bitterly take on the role of those less fortunate. They would not last an hour, much less a day.
When I start these entries, I always think I wont have anything to write about. What could I possibly say every day that will take up one hundred words. There cannot possibly be enough going on in my day-to-day existence to come up with so many words and still keep it interesting. But the funny thing about it all is, that when I go and check how many words I have written, it is usually far to many and I have to go back and delete about half of what I wrote and then it makes no sense at all.
How can it be that when I think I have my emotions all neatly bundled up, along comes the one who made me a total wreck in the first place and he is all sweet and chummy with me and it is as if the past has just dissolves into nothingness and I am feeling all those crazy emotions all over again and I wind up falling into an impossibly dangerous situation that I know will only see me getting my heart twisted into knots and eventually broken again. Yes, I was right all along. My heart is shattered anew.
I took this idea from another person's entry, but here goes: Things that would make the world a better place 1. More female cops with PMS 2. Rude people alarms placed in places of business 3. The use of plates for drivers such as E for elderly, T for teen driver 4. The rich paying into a fund to help feed the poor and making it mandatory 5. Not paying money into wars and bullshit and putting more toward the elderly and healthcare 6. Stop letting total idiots run this country and putting a woman in the white house instead
It is hard to live in this country we live in and not feel some sense of anger, mistrust and fear. It amazes me that just a few short years ago, I for one thought this world was changing. There had been a sense of peace among the citizens of the United States, a feeling of complacency and now, that is gone, possibly forever because we can no longer trust even our next door neighbor. The world is full of hurt and wrong doings and I can see no simple way to fix it and it simply breaks my heart.
I am in a dark mood now. One that I think can clearly be seen in my stance, in the way I might seem to look right through you rather than at you. I want to tear something apart so I fear for the fool who just happens to get into my way. I am dangerous. I feel criminal. I am a tormented soul who longs to lash out at my creator and ask to know why. I am fearless in my animosity and loyal to no one at all. I am deep into this anger so leave me alone.
Another day, just another, another deep breath and then a long sigh and the day will be over. In less than a blink of your eye a day, a month, a year might go by and you will still be standing here adrift on a wind that seems to blow forever. Time has no sense of decency, no respect for the ones who can't keep up. It just sweeps in and tackles everything, moving on when we are old and broken down to find another lost soul to pick up and toss against the rough planes and corners of life.
How can I think I will get ahead in life if I cannot keep up with the simple task of writing in a word journal every day? It seems to be the story of my life. I have started so many dreams, so many projects and I have let them die out of lack of desire to complete them, laziness, or even worse, fear. I seem to want to keep myself from doing the things I start and truly want to complete. I do know that I am going to finish this damned writing task even if it kills me.
And so I keep chugging along on this as if I was the little engine that could but in this case, I am the little woman who can. I sit here, night after night trying to keep the words flowing onto this screen in front of me so I can complete something that I started. To many, this may seem like a very small, insignificant feat but to me, it is monumental. It will mean that I actually started a task and worked on it until completion. Maybe I fell behind a little but I still did it by myself.
Funny, I cannot seem to stop the words from flying off of the tips of my fingers and onto the word document I have up on the screen in front of me now. I was once fretting over getting anything down. The words, simply would not enter my head to later be placed upon this screen and now, here they are as if by magic. Maybe I am getting the rhythm of this writing process down after all. Maybe, I am doing something I said I would do. Maybe I am going to accomplish something after all. We shall see.
Another day, another one hundred words to write. Oh the agony! I don't think I can force my fingers over the keys again and again until I come up with some cacophony of words that do not ramble along and make some meager attempt at sensibility. I am tortured by the very thought of staring at the screen for hours on end, slapping my hands on the table or keyboard and shouting out loud at my useless fingers as they lay tingling and red upon the keys, "Type, Type damn you!" All to no avail. You see, it is useless.
This is the last entry I shall make for this month. I am astounded with the fact that I actually made it. I set a goal and I got to the end. I finished a task all on my own. Some days I fell behind but I always came back with leaps and bounds and surpassed even my expectations of making up for lost time. Some days, I found myself eagerly writing two or three passages at a time and others, I sat staring blindly at the sea of white wondering what the hell to say. But I did it.
Okay, this is really the last entry for this month. I miscalculated the days on the entry form. Well silly me. But that is okay. I am putting it in now. I am actually a bit disappointed that it is over. This was a race, between my conscious and myself. I had to make myself sit and write some nights, and others, I was raring to go. It was a hard won moment of glory and after I finish this entry, it will be gone, but only until tomorrow night when I sit down before the computer and begin again
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