Saturday, December 23, 2006
 

Lyrics, "Hurt." You know me, it's Johnny Cash. I was listening on randomize, but now I've got it looping on this one.

Two years ago (two years that have slid by with absolutely nothing, nothing, nothing at all to mark their passage), on December 8th, I was admitted to the psych ward. That December 8th is the last date I can recall of any significance in my life, I just realized that. Between then and now, I can't pull a single date out of the year that bears that sort of meaning. I started attending the Anglican church last year, second Sunday in Advent, and that's been it's own small measure of salvation. I think I realized last year, too, that I had to dig my foot into something to keep from sliding over the edge.

I forgot-- or didn't bother-- does it matter?-- to find a foothold this year. If a soul has weight, then that's what the feeling in my chest is.

I'm torn between the anxiety of wanting to run laps around the neighborhood at 11 PM and wanting to hide under my bed. I lack the initiative to do either.

I should go to bed now.

Elvisette philosophized at 10:47 PM