A voice that keep me sane

A wet dying, and all is lost
Into something strange

Have you ever felt like you are losing it? Really losing it? Not as in you want to drink vodka till you puke up your liver, or eat 583 sleeping pills... just, like who you once were, who you thought you were has become so stretched, so scattered, so filled with what you shoulda-coulda-woulda liked to be but don't have the time?

That was all
how you called
my lost name

That's how I feel. After a day that began with discovering my car had been broken into yet again, and that I had been stupid enough to leave stuff in the locked glove compartment for them to steal, I opened the apartment door and felt nothing but despair. I don't want to be here. I couldn't wait to get home when I was at work, but when it's dark, and windy, and rainy, all I want is Tomek and a blanket. And all I came home to was a leaky faucet. A leaky faucet that drips rusty water. I could have curled up into bed, cried, and fallen asleep, but instead, I turned around and left the apartment. I checked our mail, went to the bank, and went shopping.

I bought
coat hangers
ziploc bags
granola bars
margarine
popcorn
toothpaste
index cards
garlic
bagels
bananas
celery
milk
tortilla chips
gala apples
salsa
lettuce
potatoes

And now, finally, it is almost seven, and I have tasks to keep me moving, keep me occupied till Tomek comes home to me. I am going to make garlic mashed potatoes, drum up a descriptive writing exercise for my student tomorrow night, and pay my cell phone bill. I might eat an apple or a banana, too.

You gaze back at me and I dont know where you are, though you're utterly there.
-Patrick Friesen

Go to his site. Click on books, Small Rooms and listen to Signature. His is a voice that calls me back, time and again.