welcome to my beautiful garden

I‘m very, very, tired. I have flying saucer eyes. I don’t sleep like normal people sleep. I have bouts of fragmentary sleep, which is sleep that last only a few hours followed by, a succession of hours of long contemplation about the meaning of life in stark darkness. Maybe this would explain why my body is tired.

Sometimes when I’m sad my thoughts get too ugly. This is the time writing comes in handy. I just punch in my thoughts into my keyboards and watch them transform into something other than the emptiness that sits in the pit of my stomach, like a cocoon turning into a butterfly, amazing how sadness flies from us when it has run its course.

To some people this turn is so easy, they can do it in their sleep. But to others like me, who’s always scrounging for some deeper meaning out of life, sadness tends to dwell deeper. It has been with me for so long, that I’m thinking I should start charging for rent. I don’t know why this feeling remains. Maybe it’s because I haven’t found what I’m looking for. I have not come to a place where things stop swaying, a place where the chicken took up residence when he crossed the other side, a place where mother nature rules the universe, a place where Leonard Cohen songs are put to rest, and the sound of the sweetest laughter is played year round.

I don’t know if such a place exists, but what I know is it’s not really here, not now, not anytime soon, ( & what i know is i’m not really taking about a place it’s just a euphemism for this unknown entity). But maybe someday when things are different, when I’m not so cynical. " like a cat tied to a stick that’s driven into frozen winter’s sh*t , (the ability to laugh at weaknesses)".

I will find it.

Maybe I should enjoy this moment where I’m still me, the ugly me who refuses to go down without a fight, although you wouldn’t really be able to tell by just looking. I’m utilizing the passive–aggressive mode of resistance.

I’m silently protesting against my rage. My rage stemming from my inability to execute change. I’m empowering myself by accepting defeat with a smile, a giggle, and a tiny shriek that kinda sounds like a cough, but I’ll try to pass as a laugh. Anyway, when I get my one way ticket to Atlantis, I’ll write you a postcard.

mushr out