Some days when I sit down to write I wonder what’s left to say. Hasn’t everything already been said? Am I just giving a new version of the old theme? How many ways are there to tell people that life, unfair and unrelenting, hurts to the core? It’s a life where the upcoming day is cursed for its monotony, but hoped nothing throws a wrench in the works. That, my friends, is rational-irony.
At what point, I wonder, do people tire of hearing about it? I could write everyday about the physical pain. I could ask you to pick a body part and I could likely tell you how it hurts. My wrists are probably the worst from continually messaging Ryan. Pain is so excruciating that I’ve mostly lost my grip. If I bump them the pain screams at me. My hands have the physical capacity akin to wearing oven mitts. They ache endlessly, interfering with what little sleep I get.
Sleep. Ha! What a joke that is. It’s gotten no better, other than I don’t allow myself to get up. I just lay there and sometimes I nod off. As in the past, what sleep I do get is troubled. Dreams begin even before I actually drift off, not just mocking my waking hours but now encroaching on them. Torment, that’s what it is. I often tell people (and I know I’ve written about it before) it’s like getting through the night with the flu. Even when asleep, being acutely aware of the agony. It’s like the drunken sleep, after a night of indulging, where dreams are an endless episode of drinking water. Yet, the thirst will never be quenched. That is, until awakening, hung over and hyper-anxious.
Those times when I do just lay there are the worse. My thoughts make up all sorts of scenarios. The most realistic one, absent putting a voodoo whammy on someone, is where my mind takes me down the path of dealing with those thugs on my own (ever mindful of what’s legally acceptable). Now that’s sweet justice! Then there are just plain silly ones. Last night, for instance, I conjure up the “if I could be granted one wish” for myself fantasy… complete with a sexy pink-clad Genie (that resembled Barbara Eden) floating from a golden, jewel encrusted lamp. Hey, if I’m going to daydream, I might as well do it up right. Anyhow… Obviously, I’d wish for everything to be right again. Absent that, I’d wish I was never born or it’s a thousand years in the future. When I break that down, I suppose it means I’d rather be any where, any time than here and now. I also wondered what Genie sex would be like…
Who knows, maybe someday I’ll have nothing to lose and can act on some of my fantasies. Male genie’s need not apply.