isolatedextrovert:

I don’t write 

I can’t think 

I have no time 

To think 

To read 

To review. 

To rest. 

I can’t remember who I am after all the distractions.

every day that goes by, finds me more tired, in more pain 

and more forgetfull.  I keep forgetting. I have no layers built to remember. 

It’s overload.  I know that.  It’s temporary. I know that too.

And I still am always hopeful when I finally wake up sometime at 1 pm about how much I will accomplish. 

I’m still trying. 

It’s insane as nothing seems to get better, as I haven’t changed anything. 

It takes practice to keep writing 

To write on impulse is great when you have time. When the impulse hits you.  There’s a story in everything I do and see and speak of and all the quiet moments and the loud ones and it’s a constant stream of possibilities and nothing 

nothing gets written. 

I barely have the conscious thought and then I have to run to the next thing. 

I fall asleep drying my hair so I stopped doing that 

I fell asleep putting on my make up today and woke up 10 minutes later having finished my task without remembering it 

I’m just tired.. 

so yes, there is a story there as well.  Not mine as mine is boring. 

but an always beautiful and tragic heroin, destined to fail even though she tries, relentlessly, passionately ignoring the signs on purpose, ignoring her own pain, and smiling as if ignorant by force to accomplish even the most mundane and simple tasks badly as she can’t remember how to wash a dish any more.

how to clean up a spill. should it be paper towel or a cloth?

should she wash it with a sponge? she can’t remember any more.  She stands and looks at the spaghetti sauce that dripped on the floor and that trail of red that is now searing her wrist as it drips slowly down her skin.  On impulse she licks it slowly and realizes she is hungry.  She steps on the spill without noticing and no longer remembering it and takes a pinchful of spaghetti with her fingertips, shoving it in her mouth. Grabbing at the mixing spoon she prepares a scoop of sauce and opens her mouth wide, stretching her tongue out so she can direct the sauce.  It still drips down the side of her mouth and she coughs as she chokes on the heat of tomatoes.

She swallows and licks her lips cleaning every drop on them. Famished!  Energized her eyes shoot open and she grabs a bowl and fills it quickly with the noodles and sauce.  she drops to the floor against the counter and twirls her fork and eats.  shoves and swallows and chokes and laughs and eats.

She just couldn’t wait

and didn’t remember why she had to any more.

Reposted from http://ift.tt/1vufxdN.

Tags: tomato sauce, the (in)significance of a missing e.

This entry was posted by jbc on Sunday, August 10th, 2014 at 9:06 am and is filed under Tumblr. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.