tomorrow has become such a burden. I wake up every day, my alarm going off, lately it's been a Thievery Corporation CD I made, The State of the Union Address, going off. "People in their misery... why don't you treat them the way you should?", every morning. I hit snooze.
I don't just hit snooze. I go to sleep and sleep eight solid hours, then my alarm goes off, and then I hit snooze. I wake up, hit snooze, go to sleep. Six minutes later I wake up, blink my eyes, roll over, "people in their misery...", hit snooze. Hit snooze. Hit snooze. I'll wake up, after awhile, awake, thinking,
why don't I get up? I don't get up because I'll be awake and for no other reason. I'll be awake, and I'll wonder what I should do. Should I shower? Should I brush my teeth? I should, I think, I should do those things. So I shower, I brush my teeth, I glare at myself in the mirror, at the weight I've gained, feeling helpless, unable to summon the glee at hunger I had. Knowing I'll eat today. Glaring at everywhere I have hair, thinking I should trim, shave, or pluck those places but having no drive to do so. I just put on my clothes and go read the news.
Reading the news is the only thing I do anymore. I read the news. Over and over and over, but I don't even read the news like I used to. I read it a little, then I sit in my computer chair, leaning back, close my eyes, and fantasize about how my life could be. Every day, then, when I lean forward, eyes opening, I start reading the news immediately, before I can start to think. Before my mind can wander to where I'm at, to where I've been and where I'm going. I'm in brambles, eyes closed tight, thrashing about numbing myself with all the pills I can get so I can make believe that everything is going great. It's all great, and I'll just take more xanex, right? My p-doc is always trying to give me more pills. I put a stop to that. I went in and told her I would only take xanex, lithium, and temazepam. Half, really, half of what she wanted me to take. I don't want to be a pill-zombie. I don't want to be my mom...
I was thinking about Autumn today. I have been thinking about Autumn today. God I miss her... In a way she was my daughter. In a way. She used to call me on the phone, she'd tell her grandpa to call me, call my cell phone, and she'd talk to me in her two year old speak. I'd answer my phone and Scott would tell me that Autumn wanted to call me, so I'd talk to her. She'd tell me about her day, the best she could. Barbie dolls, or it was these other dolls she had, actually. I can't remember what she called them. Why can't I remember what she called them? I remember what they looked like. Humongous eyes, and she got the dolls from mcondalds. Her family,
her family when there a lot. Bratz, bratz dolls. That's what they were called. I knew I'd remember.
She'd tell me about how she played with them. Sometimes with the neighbor girl. She'd tell me about playing with her plug dolls, I don't know what they are called, but they went with this car wash play set. She'd tell me about "getting the bushes", she'd call it. Finding a stick and hiting trees and bushes with it. That's one of the things I showed her, thinking back to when I was a kid and I'd kill goblins and dragons with my sticks. Bashing trees to death....
Things are better now, though. It used to be that even thinking about Autumn made me start to cry. People at my work would talk about their kids, Dawn and Nathan, talking about their two year olds, and I would try, try desperately, to read my book so I wouldn't have to think about what they were saying. But I never could, and it would remind me of her. Of Autumn, of all we did together, all she meant to me, and how she'll never know how much she meant to me. How much I wish... I wish a lot of things that aren't to be.
I can still feel Autumn hugging me. I can still feel that, her running up to me, saying my name, completely innocent and so happy that I was there. Then I wasn't. I am not. At least it's getting easier, getting easier to think about.
onto other things.
All I do now is wake up, hit snooze, wake up, hit snooze, wake up. Dreaming, dreaming the whole time. I dream about giant spiders, getting lost in sinkholes, people spilling potato chips in my room.... I sleep ten hours a day, every day, minimum. I wake up and wonder what I should do. I make my coffee, still, eventually. But there are no more cigarettes with my coffee. I quit smoking. I'm on day sixteen, but I've quit smoking. Quit drinking, quit smoking, no smoking weed either since I get randomly drug tested. Ah, at least my random drug tests are up at the end of the month and I can start smoking weed again, if I want to.
On that note alcohol is so much better then weed. Too bad it is so much harsher then weed. I've never woken up hungover from a night 'binge' smoking weed. Anyway...
I keep meaning to get up early and go on a walk. Two miles, takes just under thirty minutes, and I figure the walk will help me feel like waking up in the morning. Guess we'll see what happens.
In other, other news; I hope for comfort but I've never felt too safe.
I keep hoping that will change.
-Snowden
