Is it a fear of death, then, that keeps me up at night? that has always kept me up? As a child, was this what kept me awake, watching Nick-At-Nite reruns until I couldn't keep my eyes open? What made me so anxious to crawl under my covers and turn off the lights? Why is that still so hard to do? Is it that I fear the ultimate quiet that I can't manage these small ones? 


I'm sure of it.


The idea of death is at once so sinister and scary and so, so comforting...I'm so exhausted anymore that really, it is the most attractive option. I want to rest forever, but I want to wake up refreshed...knowing this is impossible, I'd choose the former, just to sleep. 


When I get this tired, I get angry. I beg the air to knock me out, scroll through my phone looking for someone who might be able to get me to calm down. I envision ways through which I might alleviate the pain: riding or running or driving away from my horrible nest, throwing glass bottles and screaming when they leave my fingertips until the pieces settle on the ground, slicing through my arms with paring knives and punching my body till I am deeply black and blue...






two unrelated "i" statements: 

i had oatmeal mixed with peanut butter, spinach, and jam for breakfast. then i had half of a chocolate bar. i feel guilty about this- eating at all, and eating that chocolate- because i ate like shit all weekend and spent the better part of 7 hours sitting in a car yesterday, not-burning the calories i had consumed. maybe it shouldn’t matter, but i want to lose a few. i feel not-so-great about myself.

i am poor. very, very poor. tax returns did not happen, even though they (apparently) were going to, and now i have just enough money to get some vegetables and pay two parking tickets before i am reduced to pocket change rattling in my checking account.