February Eighth / March Sixteenth


wacky tacky day. Man...some girls are truly annoying. That's something that I will just have to get over. It's almost as if I am (CUT OFF)


man, it's just not even worth it to be negative anymore. Here I was complaining about a silly twenty-dollar bill when I could have been doing journaling, finishing The Shining (only a hundred pages to go!), directing my thoughts and energies toward recovery. Precious time lost, spent worrying about arbitrary incidences, things far removed from my own situation. I need to wake up and smell the napalm. Shit is real serious, and I must continue to hone my concentration. Dedication must increase, not to plateau.

my sesh with Robin earlier today was absolutely wonderful. I feel like nothing I saw will deter her from wanting to help me, regardless of her "job title." We spoke about my inability to reconcile the LOGICAL and EMOTIONAL parts of my brain - that I disallow myself from any "lapses" in steadfastness and, when these indiscretions do occur, my propensity toward self-hatred and criticism increases tenfold. Providing a space for "allowances of emotional vulnerability" is necessary. Shit, even in a rehabilitation center I focus more on verbosity than common sense. Lord what I wouldn't sometimes give to sound simplistic. Not daft...anything but that.

I had planned on doing more writing this morning, but things got a little off track: and now I must compose a letter to myself at six years old...no room for corrections or editing. Wonder where this will end up.

The sunrise paints the sky in candy colors. Yummy pastels. The turbulence and melancholy of last night's dreams dissipates into the creamsicle scene. Trees as dipping rods. Obviously I do not have a response to this entry, or a real one at that - and, besides, I need to make my way to my grandmother's house for breakfast and letter-writing. It should be a productive morning. Let us all hope.

No comments:

Post a Comment