Solace in Sleep

When you ask me why I've been in my room all day, it's not because I hate you.
It's not because I'm angsty, hormonal, or unwilling.
It's not because you did anything wrong. I'm not hurt. I'm not afraid.
It's not because my boyfriend broke up with me, so don't even bother asking. You'd know.
It's not because I don't care anymore. I just don't care at this moment.

I'll care tomorrow.

It's not because I'm avoiding you.
It's not because you want me to accompany you to partnered yoga when you know I'm more of a pilates girl.
No, it's not. So don't worry, okay?

I've been in my room all day because whatever deity that floats up in the sky wanted me to be.
Today, they looked at me and thought, "She's going to sleep."
And thus; I sleep. It's my destiny, if you want to call it that.
When you ask me why I haven't brushed my hair or updated my blog in a couple weeks, I'll be more than happy to transfer your call to the big operator in the sky.

Because to be frank, I have no fucking clue

However, after months and months of praying and sacrificial rituals, I think I've got the Gods to give me some insider info.
I'll let you in on a little secret.

Why I choose my room instead of your company

It's because the color I painted my walls makes me feel safe.
It's because the blankets smell familiar and the carpet makes a perfect place for a nap when my bed needs rest.
It's because I'm tired of facing the world as I am now.
It's a place of transformation. A human chrysalis.
I go to sleep me and I wake up me.

Just me of a different breed.

Think of it as an update. Or a software patch.

It's all I can do to keep from falling

Back into bad habits
Because know that I find solace and redemption in sleep.
It's because no place in this world is my own except here. It is my mark.
It is my latitude. It is my longitude.
It is my place under the great ceiling of the spherical universe, if you follow Eudoxus and Aristotle.
I reside underneath the star painted next to Betelgeuse.
Give it some time and I'll be someplace under Canis Major.

Asleep.

And it's cool with me if you want to make a supernova type II out of a supernova type I.
I'm not going to stop you.
I'll be sleeping. Ignorant. You won't have to worry about how I'm feeling.

I won't be feeling anything.

And I'm cool with that.

An Excerpt of a Quote From a Character of a Book I'm Writing

"To whom this concerns:

There's nothing more disappointing than fake progress.

Honestly, if I could find one thing more disheartening, maybe life wouldn't look so bleak from down here...

But, here I am. Bleaker than ever.

It's when you only think you've made your recovery, when in reality, you're no different than you were yesterday. Or the day before. Or the week before.

When you're finally smelling the roses again after days of mending the tip of your nose after that one time a bee stung you when you stuck your face in the daffodils for a good whiff, and you muster the courage to inhale from afar... only to find out the swelling from your previous injury has permanently damaged communications to the olfactory bulb in your brain because you have some suffer from some terrible evolutionary misstep that causes permanent congestion when exposed to the apitoxin in bee venom.

And I know what you're thinking: "It can't be all bad, right?". 

Well no, it's not all bad. But it's enough bad to make the good feel... well... less good.

Everything is lack luster.                                                                                                 Hazey.

Bleak. 

Small.

And I don't know when, or how, or if I'll feel better soon.

But thank you for your concern."