Dreamt I blacked out and hit a cat and a squirrel. I was crying that none of my friends stopped me or cared. None of them seemed bothered. My car was dented and it had painted messages all over it. Thoughts upon waking up: I am trying to heal, be easy on myself.
I walked to the South Street bridge and over and back. I paused every so often to look at the water, up at the moon, the street lamps, a semi truck on the highway across that was noisy, almost asking me to see it. It was asking me to see it. I am thinking in fractions of things that I wrote down, “something’s leaving me. Parts of me.”
I would sit on the cold bench and let time pass on the pier and then later on the river trail. Always the same spot. Almost began to mark the spot and watch the water ripple slightly. Vigilant, turning my head almost constantly to see if a biker was coming or someone was coming. This idea someone was coming. More like waiting. Waiting for time to pass. I was never cold but when I got back, my cheeks were flushed and I needed a hot bath to cool down. I began to drink copious amounts of black tea, decaffeinated and sometimes would bring my thermos with me on these walks. I was falling asleep by nine and waking up by dawn. I could pour ten cups of coffee into my system and lethargy would creep its way across my carpet, find me on the couch, attempting. Attempting motion.
I didn’t wear gloves and if I did I took them off eventually. The metal thermos was warm and I put my hands in my pockets often enough to change the song. I was often taking my phone in and out of my pocket. I was no longer participating in the online world save to Google things which I did often. Meaning of stones. Meaning of colors. Meaning of Gods. Song lyrics. I became obsessed with song lyrics and titles and the order they played. Even when I make the playlist, I become obsessed with the order they play. I made the first list to Lilith and the first song was “Happy Birthday” by Gia Margaret. When I am back home, I find myself staring at the screen. Staring at someone’s name and the song they had played. They had played it many times that day. I could see every time they stopped the song and started again. I am thinking they are hearing that I am encouraging them to finish it. I am thinking I am touching the keys and they are receiving what I am sending.
And with a wash of despondency, I am head back to the wall, eyes closed.