I'm bored. I'm longing for fresh air. And I'm scared of this feeling, it's like the insides want to rip themselves out. I have hard work ahead, working on so many unfinished businesses, so many issues tucked away in a drawer. But the drawer is pushing itself out, age does a lot of that I suppose. I saw a young man today, he looked so sick poor thing, it was so startling. I think I'm easy on a doctor's hand in comparison. Or maybe I'm not. But just out of the surgery I felt so confused, clumsy me almost went straight into this young man. And I had to look. Now I don't like looking at people who look different, I know pretty well what the feeling of being looked at is. And I also believe that there is no stereotype as to what anyone should look like. But this young man seemed so sick, and behind him were a confused and worried mum and dad. I felt so helpless. Why do people who seek help from shrinks look so sick? Aren't they supposed to get better? I always thought the heart was a dark forest, but just now I think the brain is an even thicker forest. What goes on up there, what is the thing that makes us us, and what does erratic electrical activity in the brain mean? It sounds like something someone who lived in the middle of radioactivity would have. Why is growing up so hard, and why does it seem so easy for some? Why are there healthy people who couldn't give a damn and others so sick they will clutch at the most fragile straw? Shouldn't we care, because it could really have been us. We've just got lucky. But people keep going on in their lives, waiting for nobody, definitely not for the mentally sick, maybe until it strikes them.
The dreams have returned. Impossible, striking dreams which tell a lot. There is no way my dreams could actually happen or I'd be calling 179 immediately. Dreams are a riddle, but not a puzzle and if you remember them then they must have a bearing of what has gone on in life; what you feel about that certain someone, about childhood. Because someone said, if you regress far enough, then you can go that far enough.
MSN is still quiet, the world hasn't woken up yet, it's Saturday and of course just for it to be more puzzling I've opened a new pair of eyes at 7 am. Just when I was worrying how possible it would be to do that... seems it is.
The dreams have returned. Impossible, striking dreams which tell a lot. There is no way my dreams could actually happen or I'd be calling 179 immediately. Dreams are a riddle, but not a puzzle and if you remember them then they must have a bearing of what has gone on in life; what you feel about that certain someone, about childhood. Because someone said, if you regress far enough, then you can go that far enough.
MSN is still quiet, the world hasn't woken up yet, it's Saturday and of course just for it to be more puzzling I've opened a new pair of eyes at 7 am. Just when I was worrying how possible it would be to do that... seems it is.
