What of this anxiety, strange to sleep with its one eye open…. A degraded taste of everything I am, shouldering the occasional grudge that ne’er before seemed to burden me. A once refreshing voice gets under my skin as sirens compare in their volume, until all I wish to do is speed in any way I can.
I feel as if caged and worn, sweated of my interests and barren of my cause. Hobbies seem to me suddenly hollow and trifle, so I pace the ground that’s most familiar to me as if sleep walking had always been my habit.
The rain it comes as often does the sun, and night fells predictably early…having placed me in some awkward twilight. Has it been days since I last slept, lying there in my crowded boredom? My imagination seems to beckon me more often than ever until my known dimensions become diluted.
Is this what it’s like to create a world of your own, mapping it just the way you wanted it only to leave the one you’re from entirely weightless? If only I could blame it on something I could stop, and not have to wander or vent these abstract corridors.
And what will I do on this Christmas day, swaggering as young beside my oldest relatives. I feel rebellious and cold, uneasy in my thoughts…. Will I be able to tame my discomfort for the greater good of today? Can I swallow my hapless anger for my distress? These things we shall see; and I will at every turn bite my tongue whilst I’m not grinding my teeth.
