Empty

And yet with so many stories to tell.
photo by C. Hornby

Diary entry, May 22, 2014

Nothing nothing nothing.  I know there is something.  I just don’t know what.  Either that or I am just one huge massive loser looking for something to blame my huge massive loser-dom on.  The more I think about it, the more I realize I have always been deadly lazy.  Sort of.  Not in an obvious way.  It’s hard to explain.

I re-read Jekyll & Hyde and some of RLS’s other short stories.  I also started re-reading The Turn of the Screw.  Gothic ghost stories and Victorian weirdness.  I think I might be hysterical, just like a 19^th century character.  Or maybe I’m reading these books because this house seems so Victorian, even if it’s actually Edwardian.  From the outside it looks pretty imposing.  A nutty house.  I’ll never be able to have many lights on or the electric bill will be massive.

I think I am tired.  I don’t even want to listen to myself anymore. 

I’m going off banana Weetabix.  What does this mean???

I keep finding bits of journals I forgot I kept.

Dream big, girl.  Dream big.

The Funny Farm, Pt. 2

The Unknowing

I was one fear closer to here

lost in a night too dark for sleeping

was it me on the ledge        or was it you

whispering

                                                               

                                                                 

                       do not give up too soon

do not give up

too soon               

                                                                                                                                                                               

when I am breaking           

I am a fool

where do I stand

I am a piece of stone mixed in

with all this sand

                                                               

yet full of proof

of what died         with you

                               

                why did you bring me here to my cyclone second

when rage engulfs this bridge from earth to heaven                    

cinder through and through              

                                                                                                                                                                               

you ask too much                               you do

                                                               

                                               

for one whisper like the hint of water splashed on embers

for one storybook of dreams with its message tethered 

to the fading metal moon

               

the sun  it can  be cruel

now that I gave too much       too soon                                                                                               

                                                                               

                                                Is this your plan  

               

is this your one    

your great             

your smoky last demand  

or

my intention

my blue-flame doom

because

burned across my heart your forgotten message

the language lost in time with the words rewritten

resuscitate the girl she is out of breathing

collapsed under the hope she could not believe in

the soot was in her eyes she could only cry

was this my one great truth

did I give up

                too soon?

Diary entry, January 9, 1983

Dear Diary,

Today we went to church.  Yuck!  We bought some rolls and French bread after church.  Mom got a pass today.  She came down and took Steve and me out for ice cream.  She said she might have to stay one more week after this.  I hope not.

Letter to Ryan, December 12, 1989

I talked to my grandma on Sunday (or should I say shouted?  She’s incredibly deaf).  I told her Steve, Erica, and I might come on the 24^th instead of the 25^th, and she said she’d prefer the 25^th because Christmas Eve means nothing to her.  But Joan wants us to go on the 24^th  (not to mention the fact that Erica, Steve, and I don’t want to go on the 25^th) because then it’d be more fun for everyone.  Anyway, we’ll see what happens.  I talked to my dad, too, and he said, “You are spending some time with us during your break, aren’t you?”  I guess I’ll spend a weekend there and make everyone happy.  

The Garden Path