One Inch Less

Is it better to care less and feel less day in day out? It may be better to accept less with each sunset, and to learn to say goodbye at sunrise. My eyes are weak and dry, may tomorrow God take these dry eyes and this dry heart, and may I be less for it.

This morning I woke up, and felt good. Being alone for eight hours makes me feel good. Then I saw my mum, and after a few minutes I found a hint of a reviling tone which made me feel ready to pop. In, out. Took two pills in, in the morning. Out my mum and brother went, to church. I fetched sap from the trees in the woods, and spooked some deer and saw a man sitting in a green chair in the midst of the woods.

I then drew for a little bit. I finished. I raked the garden of winter's leaves, prying away the shade so that the green shoots could breath. My mum and brother returned from church. I was alone most of the morning, and I felt much better for it. All I want is to be alone, but maybe all I need is to learn to stand people. I don't get sick of good people, but good people - I know maybe five. But those five hardly know me - probably why I think that such good people may exist.

I saw an inch worm as I took a break from raking. It had floated down, and I had noticed it. For about an inch of time I pondered the inch worm, how it spins its silk and inches about. Metaphors about patience, babe.

Something, somewhere. I felt okay much of the day, but I played my music loud and was alone. Around eight I went to the movie theater with my brother, Mike, and Erica. Me and Erica walked into the theater the back way, because we are too poor to afford real movie tickets. I felt floaty, kind of useless afterward. Perhaps it is because I float, and am pretty useless. This is probably the reason. Or the answer. Tides will quell no reasons, no answers.

My brother has his wisdom teeth removed tomorrow, and I see a counselor for the first time in a month. I am not sure what to expect, for some reason new things are different every time you do them. That may be significant. I made gelled puddings for my brother tonight. They are in the fridge firming.

I took my Seroquel and an Ativan before bed tonight. As I wrote this entry, an inchworm squirmed on my chest. It took one step and I saw the worm. Was it the worm I had seen earlier today, or is this a new worm, taking the place of a boy with one less care, one less prayer?