|
Yet another black dark night of the soul last night. Why am I here? Why am I so stymied? What would I do if I really could do anything? nothing nothing nothing. Killing time seems like a sin. Could I think of something that could give me meaning and purpose that doesn't have to involve someone else?
the big fat bumblebees constantly swarm around this one bush, but the buds seems so closed so I wonder if they're just hopeful. I watch birds now, but the only one I recognize is the cardinal. I gave my painting away to the legally blind boy. I miss my grandmother's wedding ring every day. What does any of me matter? If I died, so? I also realize that the only swaths of my life that seem real to me are the times I spent in Wilmington. In fact, I believe it's currently where I'd have my ashes scattered - on the Cape Fear. I've sat on that quay like millions of you many many times - although now there's a fence that guards it.
The hard thing about non-slow suicide is that my mother still lives... and what a terrible example I'd give to my suffering nephews. Other than that, all I am is a troublesome theoretical thing momentarily thought upon. I'm wasting my stepfather's gift. He could be making even more money for his set-for-life nest.
And money. god knows. I wonder if I'll make it.
Do bees hibernate?
|
