Perhaps it is time that I stop holding on to the past, a past that has held me back from tomorrows, a past that haunts me, a ghost that haunts me. The years turn to months, the months into days as time becomes a haze, like watching the patter of rain on a fogged window sill. Was I looking out or looking out or was I looking in? I never really knew, everything seemed so metaphysical as my universe unfolds through words. Was my past already written or am I rewriting it. Perhaps I'm writing to forget you. As the minute to midnight count away another year, I ask myself if I would ever be ready to live again. I find comfort in these words, they help me frame any sort of pain into a medium that I am slowly master over. Denial perhaps, but only through writing can I forget. Yet only through writing the ghosts of yesterdays come alive again. I still feel your ghostly shell, your fingers in mine and an absent breathe of calm in my ears as the seconds ease into a new decade. Good morning 2010.

The brown sludge gagged in my mug as I stirred absentmindedly. The intern I thought was cute had left. It was raining on what I had thought was a bright sunny day and there was a stillness in the air that annoys me.

Work is fine, work is good. I should be glad but something bothers me and I don't know what. Its like I had fallen into a cactus patch and come out unscathed, but something nags at me and I try to brush it off. I just hope I don't sit down to fine a cactus needle in my arse.

Perhaps its just the rainy weather. The coffee gagged in protest. I added in some more water and it turned a happy light brown. Ok, time to perk myself up!

There are those days where even with the most extreme exercise of willpower will do nothing to drag you beyond your room. Well, these days are becoming more and more common. I question if its merely psychological, a physiological manifestation of something psychologically wrong with me. I begin to realize that Im probably not the best person to be evaluating my own mental health. What I do know that does not beg a question, is that I am not going to work today, period.

The pillow under my head is soft and the beeping mobile which cruelly dragged me from my slumber is silenced. I was having the most illustrious of dreams, soaring, eating ice cream and running through open fields of colourful flowers. Tonight was the same but different, the dreams are similiar, so are the nightmares, but today you were not there. Should I be relieved? Perhaps, perhaps my heart has begun to heal.

I should be out of my bed, making coffee, getting dressed for work. It isn't even bright yet. The only light that shone in my room came from the crack beneath my door, daddy was getting ready for work too. Usually, I would find this part of the day the most difficult, to wake to a meaningless, thankless but well paying job. Today I found it impossible. I sniffled as I felt my own forehead. Burning. That explains my fuzzy thoughts and dreams. I opened my mouth to call for Father.

The first attempt produced a whimper as I grimaced from the pain. I must be down with a flu. My stupid colleagues should know better coming to work with something so contagious. I tried again, this time louder and in response, a comforting knock on my door before it creaked open. The warm lights from the hall seeped into the darkness of my room, producing my father as a comforting silhouette standing firmly like a sentinel at my door. I open my mouth to speak again, imploring him to call the office on my behalf before snuggling back comfortably under my quilt. I shut my eyes trying to return to sleep again, attempting to avoid the awkwardness. Daddy lingered for a moment and finally left. I heard him sigh as he closed the door behind him, leaving me again in the darkness.

Oddly today, I feel a certain disconnect with my physical being, a feeling that my spirit exceeds the bounds of mortal flesh, trapped by the inadequacies of physicality. Ill as I may feel, I feel the torment of frustration more than the dread my flu has brought me.

I hugged Bear Bear a little harder as I try to will myself well again.

I walked in and sat down at my desk. Beginning of the internship, gah... Editorial stuff bore me, I want to be somewhere infusing myself with the infectious overtones of art, not some dry editorial work.

Before my thoughts could go further, she came in and sat opposite me. No, not that neighbour whom my mum hates. Another intern from another school, from another department. She wasn't like, mesmerizingly gorgeous, but pleasant looking. She and I looked at each other awkwardly, then we both smiled hello. She has a smile that could light up a harbor drowned in night. We sat down and did our stuff. We didn't have much interaction, but the office environment was quite relaxing, and my colleagues have such camaraderie, it wasn't possible to stay gloomy for long.

We smiled goodbye at the end of the day, and I walked out thinking, "Hey, this isn't so bad after all...."

Plucking pages from a long buried text provides a certain unusual nostagia and escape from the cruel forward flowing manner of time. Many of these memories are not very pretty, not very pleasant, but they validate an existence without a past would be merely tenous. Sometimes, our peers find a certain madness in this endless pursuit of meaning in things past, a certain narritivity. I need narratives, I need to believe in an overarching story, guiding our otherwise random lives forward. Looking to yesterdays, give me courage to believe we can comprehend tomorrows.

Sunlight trickled through the poorly drawn curtains, illuminating a darkness that pervaded my recent days. My head throbbed angrily, as I struggled to open my eyes. An unfamiliar bed. I panicked, where am I? Momentarily, I felt very vulnerable, exposed, broken. I squeezed my eyes shut attempting to shut out these thoughts. Fighting the pain, I gingerly lifted the soft brown sheets, not daring to look for a while. The soft brown fabric caressed my skin, creating the illusion of nudity in my head as I peeked beneath it, hurriedly shutting my eyes again, letting my mind process my own skimpily dressed body illuminated only by dispersed brown light. At that moment, I never felt so relieved to find myself still dressed, albeit in a total mess. Then it dawned on me - I was safe. The pain returned in waves again, as I let my heavy head rest on an overstuffed pillow. If there was any danger or threat to my being, it would have occurred when I was dead to the whole wide world, therefore I must be in a safe place with a kind person. Logical leaps, but how else would you expect a silly silly girl to think. My eyes smarted from smudged make up and body ached. Memories of a debauched evening gradually slipped into the realm of consciousness. I stretched like a cat, tears welling up in my eyes as a worsening migraine dominated my thoughts. I sat up, surveying this strange new place, attempting to discern a clue as to how I ended up here. The only familiar sight was a dawning Sky, shining through all shadows in Her brightest most glorious brilliance.

Sky
Avon
Dreaming Writing Believing


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