I have arrived home, a little worse for the wear, with my brain filled with information that it is currently sorting, putting into its own perspective, and getting ready to launch it, in order, back to me when I ask it to.
Scared. Can't talk.
The trip home was long, of course.....and of course, walking through the airport, everybody wants to know the scoop on the things to come; I am a harbinger, you know....
Can't you see by the look in my eyes that there are pieces of me missing?
And then they start giving ME information...
(sound effect: Star Trekian RED ALERT klaxon, voices yelling "abandon ship", and possibly a Godzilla roar)
At home: Pile of mail. Sort it.
Laundry. Do it.
Lawn. Mow it.
Cat. Pet it.
Bed. Find it.
Pill. Take it.
Sleep. Finally get it.
Now it's Sunday Morning, and I'm back to the grindstone.
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2 comments:
If I could show you mine you would see clearly that they are much like yours.
You are not alone Clemo. Not at all and far from.
Your words have kept me from feeling alone.
Crazy is only crazy when you are operating under someone elses parameters. Somehow it seems easier on your psych ward, in your own cell, with your own straight jacket.
welcome home.
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