03/08/10. monday

Even a beautiful day like this, do the shadows creep inward like a parasitic infection. I am sick, infected with bouts of restlessness -- eyelids heavy, muscles weary, voice faint, spirit dry, soul longing. Where are you, where are you? You are supposed to bring peace to my madness, you are supposed to provide the refuge, the rest, the joy.

I don't want to live to just see the days pass, to watch the hours of the clock increase in number, for the sky to go dark, for time to eat, to sleep, to rise, to fall.

I try to flee. I try to flee the worry, the shame, the rage. I run for something -- far, and away. I run and flee. But how do you get away from yourself?