>> Friday, July 29, 2011
...feelings and moods meld, muddying colors into indistinguishable pools of gunk that glob together and splotch up my view.
...the nagging murmurs remain within earshot but too garbled for me to understand.
...the random bits of information I do blurt out are only those bubbles that float to the surface, and the underlying denser things stay hidden below, in the dark under-waters like shadowed blobs where I can't make quite make out their shape or size.
...all the little things I'm thinking/worrying/bitching about fill the space around me with lights flashing rather than reveal themselves as stars in a constellation. I see them scattered but the big picture doesn't emerge.
...I'm stuck up here at this discursive level, this choppy surface where I bob about in the waves, and I can't sink down to the lakebed to see where the wave starts rolling.
Because I'm not writing, I'm not connecting the dots or following the spiral and I'm not making sense of anything and so what's here instead are just unarticulated feelings and senses and a whole lot of restlessness.
Writing would help. Sleep, too. And yet I surrender to resistance one more night and go to bed with it all swirling madly, none of it making particular sense.