It's really staggering how quickly the tides can turn. It was really an actually promising week, up until last night, for the most part. Some good news. Some changes. Despite the week long headache, all the rain, and the general doldrums of it all, I was hopeful. I was optimistic. I felt things changing and moving forward. There were opportunities manifest just on the horizon. One. More. Step. And then the proverbial poo went flying into the ceiling fan and rained chunky corn-filled shit down on everything.
I don't know what is in store. I think it hit me earlier when I began organizing the possessions that decorate my world. I removed all the art from the front room's walls and a quiet eeriness set in. It feels vast and empty and haunted in there now. Your voice echoes when you speak, so my usual banter to myself and silly humming of nonsense is quieted. I don't like hearing it bounce back at me.
So what next? The heavens only know. A part of me really does not want to leave. A part of me is still foolishly hopeful - perhaps hopeful is not the proper word - wishful that things might have changed. That things might have, in some way, ended (up) differently. I don't know. Perhaps I am just comfortable in this - be it good, bad, or indifferent - and fear the changes to come.
I really don't know what I am feeling... I just know all this negativity is killing me. Hope by hope. Prayer by prayer. Bone by bone.
And what I fear more is that eventually there won't be much of me left.
I feel I have already lost so, so much (of myself) already...