Thursday, 6 March 2008


    When are you gonna come down
    When are you going to land
    I should have stayed on the farm
    I should have listened to my old man

    You know you can't hold me forever
    I didn't sign up with you
    I'm not a present for your friends to open
    This boy's too young to be singing the blues

It's a good day for a long overdue barometer, isn't it? The sparrows are back, the chickadees are outside shivering on a blindingly sunny morning. The kids are (somewhat) healthy, I fell asleep on PJ late last night while I waited for him to pass me back my phone, Ben again checking in before bedtime. I woke up on the couch this morning, fully clothed, PJ had locked up and gone home and set my phone to go off at six. He is all sorts of awesome. At 6:02, Ben called and told me his revised coming home date. March 17. Eleven days!

Speaking of dates:

February 12 was the last time I went to therapy.

February 24 was the last day I swallowed a pill.

Just thought you should know.

How am I doing? Fucking great. As in, really fucking great. The fog is starting to lift. I'm not dizzy or hungry or shaky or quite as foggy. I'm not spending my moments mired in working my brain and my heart as if they were ever supposed to be some sort of cohesive mechanism. I'm not missing Jacob because I just don't think about it. I pretend he never happened. I just glom onto PJ and wait for Ben to come home and cook and clean and write and shop and life is quietly like it's supposed to be.

I couldn't do it anymore. They kept forcing me to confront things I would rather forget. I'm going to do this my own way, or rather, no way at all. I'm just going to mash the gas and watch the scenery race by until where I am looks new and unfamiliar and like a place that I could spend a while. My mental Veyron, she is gunning for me to hurry up.

I don't want to think about Jacob . I can't. I can't. I can't.

It's one thing for life to be a circus. It's quite another to be strangled by one's own safety nets. I just couldn't do it anymore.

I'll be okay. I am always okay. I always come out somewhere in the middle. I will keep writing.

Don't yell at me, internet. Say your peace if you must but do it in lowercase, please.