But I didn’t keep writing.
I fell asleep.
I turned off my alarm and went back to sleep. I was having a dream. Not too sure what of. Either way … I wanted it to keep going. I wanted to be lulled back, away from this inanity, this absurd banality, this dull reality I inhabit.
I was having a dream this morning … I’m not too sure what of.
All I knew is that I was warm. All I knew is that I was content. I knew I was happy.
But I’m spinning my wheels. I aint going anywhere. Inspiration is dwindling … I’m repetative and derivative. It’s rather pathetic. I spin in circles saying the same little sound-bites. I don’t know how to be that honest. I don’t know how to be that…I’m scared of things I don’t know. But I know that I don’t want to be alone. I’m tired of being alone.
I’m not interesting. So I’m outrageous.
But that means, and here’s the tragedy, when I say anything of emotional import … I talk, but no one here’s me say anything.
I’ve gotten used to it I guess.