I'm tired. my fingers nimbly hum across the keyboard in a beat that's pleasing to journalists ears. I'm tired. Have I said that already. body warm due to the shower I just took. Head tingling due to the dandruff I'm trying to get under control.
It's cold outside. Cold into the bones. I wouldn't want to be homeless tonight. The last homeless guy I took into my house name was Carl. He got a food box from a local program and damn near gave me the entire thing. My pantry was full. His bookbag empty of food. I'm tired. My fingers have stopped moving due to the thoughts I'm trying to drum up to give you a clear photo into my life.
I sat with a friend today. She ordered 2 poached eggs. I got them scrambled. As we ate the classical music ragged on. Beethoven telling us how unacceptable brilliant he was. I look at her and think she's beautiful. Not in a love way but in a loving way. Girls don't think they're beautiful. It's not my fault.
She smiled and I smiled back. Two friends sharing stories. Two friends trying to understand life. Life filled with sounds all around. As we walked back to her dorm the cold air pierced the literal six layers of clothing I was wearing. She wants to be beautiful but she has bad skin. I thought to myself your skin doesn't make you beautiful. Your heart makes you beautiful. If only I could believe that. How do the thoughts I have go unbelieved by even me.
I'm tired of laughing I thought. There comes two choices then. Either suck it up and laugh. Or change your sense of humor. I imagine when I'm tired of something I do a little of both. Laughing has it's moments. Crying doesn't have enough. I almost cried talking to her today.
I look down at my body and see the hair. I guess I view my hairy body the way some girls view their flat chest; wish they were different but realize it isn't worth changing. Then they become okay with how God made them. Or they're insecure the rest of their life. You should get over yourself.
As a stood in the shower the ever increasing hot water ran over my body. Sometimes people give me good ideas. Thanks for those. Heart heavy, skin hot, I wish there was music on. I try singing but my voice hurts and I don't want to. So I stood their with my thoughts. Done soaping. Done washing. Done bathing. Done cleaning my internal soul with external water. It's perpetual sin. Done thinking. She told me not to think.
I'm lonely because I don't want to be honest. Other people don't want to be honest either. Or maybe it's just not a good time for them. Baring your soul hurts more than it's worth maybe. It's also a lot harder being honest than lying. Maybe that's why people lie. They are all a bunch of lazy pricks...telling people lies.
You know you're not addicted to cigarettes when you still get a buzz of smoking them. I'm tired. And not addicted to cigarettes. I am addicted to woman though. I love them. And their unrelenting ability to forgive. Thank God women aren't men.
As the clock ticks toward my bedtime I realize the things I say don't need a point or a moral. You'll get out of them what you want to get out of them without me saying anything. Just remember that I'm the author of what I write which means I define what what I write means. You don't. If you want to have that kind of power write yourself.
There's an unfinished dress sitting on my sewing machine. There's four unfinished phone calls needed to be made. There's one messy room needed to be cleaned and ten toe nails needed to be cut. There's one Bible verse I need to read and six people I wish I could slap in the face. And one lonely bed that desires a partner. I'm tired.
I wonder what the yawn is for mental exhaustion. Maybe tears. Tears are as contagious as yawning.
love. war. Goodnight.