Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Days that kind of suck.

Today is one of those days that just don't feel right, that don't start off right, and isn't progressing right.

I had an unrestfull night of sleep (more on that later) and woke up hating everything I put on and went through about 7 outfits before deciding I didn't have time to mess around and needed to rush to get to the bus in order to make it to work early.

I'm unusually sensitive emotionally, my thought process broken and I have a headache that's not gone away.

Oh, and evil weird dreams that plagued me through last night. I dreamt last night of traffic whizzing by me and being lost on my bike, trying to climb up hills that were impossible, to look back and see it didn't even qualify as a gentle slope. At the top of the cliff like hill that wasn't even a bump in the road the area turned into a dirty, sad, broken down area where a mother and son were dirt encrusted, hanging onto the edges of society. To make money they took old things and fixed them up, but the mother was kidnapped and held ransom at knife point because the thieves believed the family was wealthy. The thieves didn't believe the mother/son duo were poor because the items they had collected and fixed up looked valuable. It deescalated and resolved with the statement that "If you wait long enough, old crappy things eventually look valuable".

Then the mother and ungrateful "bad" son got into a horrible fight. The mother was screaming that her son was an ungrateful wretch and he attacked her with a knife and a power drill. Failing to cause her demise, she attacked him and they ended up in a tangled bloody mass. Between the mother fighting and beating the son he had the power drill bore through his open mouth into the back of his head for what felt like hours. Disgusted and despondent, he flung himself into the nearest suicide option by jumping into an empty well, but didn't quite succeed. The mother, horrified at what she had caused, leaped down after him but for some reason continued fighting him - and they ended up broken limbed, hole ridden, and bloody at the bottom of the well. During this entire scene, I had morphed into and out of the personas of both the mother and the son and got the lovely experience of ended up spending most of the night feeling like I was being either cruelly bound, having a knife at my throat, drilled into with a power tool, or broken at the bottom of a well. Not a particularly restfull night.

Work is also extremely slow lately, which leads me to work on more administrative, archiving, and standards creation items. Not the same as real project work. Often I'm left wondering how I'm going to fill up the rest of the afternoon. I'm doing all I can to end up on another project though. It's just slow going.

On an up note, my ribs don't hurt quite as much as before and my forearms have stopped weeping. Weeping wounds....I totally love the English language, the structures words have, the way words roll off your tongue, and how some phrases are translatable into different aspects of your life.

Weeping Wounds
Toxicity brought up through
ragged raw bleeding screaming patches -
disgusting painful pieces where
life isn't as it once was.
Pushing the pain
up from depths not yet imagined
my wounds weep,
a process that cannot be foregone,
a necessity for new life to come.
Harbor the hope
that the scarring will be minimal.

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