Strangeland

January 16th, 2008

the world is my Flying Pan.

i just have to keep telling myself that and i will be okay.

it has been an unusually difficult couple of days. i would like to talk about it but it always comes out wrong. once again, i have made the wrong decision in a crucial time. why do i keep doing this? is it bad judgment? indecisiveness? recklessness? love?

the floor here breaks my heart. there are all these things scattered on the coffee table that i don’t even want to touch. within 10 minutes of arriving, i had to lock myself in the bathroom and cry. and then earlier this afternoon i had to come back in because i forgot my mobile phone.. in a fit of determination, i made myself lie down on the bed. my bed. in my room. facing the wardrobe. just to stare at things. and so i stared at the wooden duck on the floor. stared at the potted plant. all while trying to pin down nausea and a spinning head.

yknow, it’s so easy to say, this is just another place, but it is NOT just another place. it was supposed to be so much more than that. it’s funny how the things that you love the most, hurt you the most.

i really want to go home.

but then, going home is for the weak. i am strong, i am brave and i am good at what i do, and no one or myself can convince me otherwise. the world is my Flying Pan. if i could do it that one time, i can do it now and always.

Entry Filed under: Unsent Letters