The silence of this house always makes me trample back and forth from the present to the past and back again, like a predator stalking its prey. I wouldn't consider it a welcoming silence, either -- it's more the feeling of alcohol calling a former alcoholic to reconsider... to take one more sip. My whole life is a series of 'one more sips,' from as far back as I can remember. And on top of all this, I feel so lost. It's a draining kind of lost where I concluded that life feels like I have an anvil tied around my feet and I'm trying to walk off in any direction, but to no avail. I hate waking like this, where the day is potentially ruined before it's even begun. I was thinking how weird it is... other people's pasts before you ever knew they existed. Sometimes I feel saddened over the fact that so much influencial things went on in someone's life before I even came into the picture. It's like inheriting someone's used pair of shoes. The upside to this is that old pair of shoes are more comfortable than the newer pair. I always come up with stupid analogies. Stress. I'm hitting the wall with having to sit here with weights of time just suffocating me mercilessly. I've written about time before, and said that so often; time is a killer. Your life is like this clock, and when it winds down, there are no second chances, no re-do's... nothing -- just death. Time always marches on, Sally. I'm tired of these same 4 walls that I've been stuck behind for over 20 years. All the ghosts are on loop, no matter where I look or where I rest my head; they watch me. They perform for me tricks that could never be done by any other human on earth right now, and they taunt me with that. I hate being a slave. As I slept on Keith's couch the other night, I was overcome by this blissful contentedness of sleeping somewhere new, that wasn't home. I wished I had a different window to look out of, a different place to put the garbage cans on garbage night, a different place to take a shower -- a different everything. Often, I have this nagging sensation that pulls at me like a toddler trying to climb up my leg, that my place is in California. I've felt this way since I was so young. I'd have dreams of my family moving to California, and I'd wake up ecstatic, only to come to the bitter realization that it was just a dream. Too many things are 'just a dream.'
Grinding into walls
5:19 p.m.//12.22.04
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