The Smiths – How Soon Is Now?

Just logging in. Lately that’s what I’m doing in life: just logging in.

I made Indian Butter Chicken today from a package. I’ve never had it before but figured why not? The apples keep falling outside on the cars but I’m not keeping up with them. I am being force fed Christmas by so many media outlets that I already hate Thanksgiving and Christmas and we’re not even out of the first week of November. The Smiths’ music embodies my emotional atmosphere. Their music will until the end of Spring. Goodbye good days here comes the raining ash, a slow storm that flavors my world. No one sees it; no one understands that I can’t escape this angst. How abused and misaligned that word is.

Someone feed me happy dust. At this point in my life it doesn’t matter if my flesh is poisoned. I know when I am burned my body will go up like chemical soaked pinecones in a fireplace, red, blue, green. I fantasize a viking pyre set out on the Atlantic burning high soot whisked away colors playing through the logs… And everyone can play music, drink whatever makes them happy and roast a pig on the beach as they dance until dawn.

Like that would even represent my life. It wouldn’t but maybe the happiness would send me off into the direction that would help me most.

This time I don’t struggle. I don’t have a reason to continue. I did what I wanted to do. I don’t see an end to all the BS in my life. I had hoped to be “cured” of the things that twisted me into depression, self hatred and fatigue. I know another “chapter” in my life is coming up but I didn’t get myself ready for it. Of all the things I wante to do one was to conquer this anxiety that drives me to be freaky.

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