drive
I'm a merry-go-round place on a slight slope, a swirl of calm and quiet that touches in on a rage that I can't quite feel but suspect is there. I've kept strangely quiet at home the last few days, nestling into a book or taking time to rest or clean the house before leaving for work in the morning. I might not have made that choice today had my knee not been troubling in me. The pain is a blessing, I'm sure, as I know myself well enough to know that I'm not above driving myself to the point of collapse. I have so much more to say but don't have the time to excavate the recesses of my brain. Lyricists. I wanted to speak of lyricists. (I'm noting that in the hopes that the thoughts won't be lost as if letting them go would be some kind of fucking tragedy.)
I dreamed of the last last one and his best friend this morning. They woke me up, actually, at least an hour before the alarm went off. Although I was pleased to see them, I do hope that they understand that I need my rest.