Not right

I am trying to write. I have been staring at my blog with Joe Demicoli in the background, because I don't want to listen to the sad songs I like so much. Sad songs make me cry, and sometimes I like crying. But I don't want to cry today. I feel I have to be strong, for other people, for myself, for my cats, yes it might sound funny, but cats know, at least mine just do. They come up to me blinking and miaowing, their way of asking, hey are you all right? And I try to blink back as if to tell them, sure, don't worry about me, I'm fine. But I'm not fine, the cats know it, I know it. So I keep listening to Demicoli's version of I Will Survive which stops the tears even forming. What is turning me into a helpless woman like this? I don't really know and this time it's no PMS. PMS is nice to blame everything on, but it still doesn't make me feel better. Perhaps I'm tired and I just want to not take care of anything anymore. Talk about hitting the roof. I'm hitting the core of the earth right now, and it doesn't feel right. Yes I know it's supposed to be fiery and red, all the things I usually am, and yet it doesn't even have a colour, not even in black in white. Joe Demicoli's I will Survive takes place at Mater Dei, and he's looking at the cleavage of this nurse. At the same time he says that anybody wanting him wiped out (pun intended) is not going to get his wish. Strange, all bundled into one stanza. And yet it makes sense. At least he has the energy to fight. I don't even have that tonight. I'm just doing a lot of looking, a lot of staring and it becomes terribly complicated because sometimes lovers are difficult to double as shrinks. Yet I still need his glance now and again because it stops me from bashing myself about. Perhaps I'm a wimp. And perhaps it'll be all right by morning, but morning is way too far for me to wait.