Slugged and Fine
So no poetry or fiction today. I feel horrible. It's been a bad day, and I just wanted to let anyone who reads this know that. It's not the kind of terrible that makes me want to spill my guts either - well, let me ramify that: it does make me want to spill my guts, but simultaneously, it makes me want to sew them up with needle and thread so tightly that they're never in danger of being spilled and then slipped on by anyone, anywhere, anytime. I want them to be simply known in such a manner that I don't have to communicate; I want them understood via some osmosic transmission. Today's was the kind of awful that's born of bone-wearying struggling; things you thought you didn't care about any longer suddenly gaining importance and you pummel them back but every blow makes your biceps weaker and you can't help but beg for a breather. You're never awarded one. Today was that kind of day, well at least the day in which myriads of slug-ful days finally coalesced into one great punch - and this time it was me that got the licking and not me giving it, or even attempting to give it. I was pounded and then kicked while I was down and I am physically mentally spiritually emotionally sick of it all, and as lame as that sounded, it's in-all-facets truth. And I'm certain that the few people who I'm certain could maybe lift me out of this fighting ring are the people who won't read this, and that's probably why I'm writing it in the first place: I know they won't read it. And I sure as jiminy won't let them even begin to develop doubts as to my holistic contentment. "I'm fine, I really am." With a smile.
2 comments:
Shoot, that's too bad! I hate it when that happens. I hope you're not so enigmatic, though, that nobody can figure out what's going on. It really is good to have people with you, not just around you, when things get hard.
There's some healthy doses of this stuff going around. I wish I knew you better - or not as well in some regards - to be of more help. I just told someone else a variation of this. Feeling sick and beatup is fine - more than fine - it's human. For whatever that's worth. I'm realizing as I type this that you wrote this post last night while I clambered to the top ten in PBT. A vapid frivolity to compliment your morose aching. Here's to licking wounds and sewing guts. I hope the people who need to hear you, do - soon.
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