short stacks

It'll put any kid down when the few joys in life begin stacking up shorter and shorter. Maybe it's because the memories are piling up higher and higher, leaving less room for dreams and less room for desires. Maybe sanity has become too heavy to hold steady. Maybe it's a craving for unbalancing and re-balancing. It is all better as a game.

I spent a week in a psychiatric ward, beginning February 17. It was probably a lifetime too short. When I was there I wanted anything but to be there, all I wanted was to be free. But out here, all I want is back in. All I want is to be told where the boundary is, to be told there are a pair of doors I'm not to pass through. I'd like to be told what to do with ten fingers, what to do with ten tows. I'd like to be told what to see with two eyes and what to hear with two ears. I'd like to be told what to do with one life, what to do with one heart. What to do with one beat. What to do with no beat.

I've withdrawn from this semester at school, and cannot fathom re-enrolling in the fall. It seems life could move on around me. Is it a slow seep to insanity or a swift slope into sanity.

It is raining outside, the first shower of spring. I do not have a job and I do not have any money. The sap from the trees is running. We believe Monster was raped. Today the city was misty and the crests of the valley were swabbed in grey. Tonight I baked two pizzas for two friends, and now I go to sleep feeling ever as alone. Tonight I go to sleep, knowing I should not have ever been awake.