Secret Pop

Jan 5, 2004

Heat Rises

I have really been catching myself in fits of anxious impatience lately. Drivers frustrate me more readily. Friends disappoint me more easily. Words carry sharper edges. For some reason, I am extra sensitive. And I don't know why. And I don't know how to protect myself. My candy coating seems to have melted away, and I fear I'm much more prone to losing my shape altogether.

I just want to relax. Think nice thoughts. Get a good night's sleep. Not care so much. I just want to be able to start something without knowing how it ends and that it will be disastrous. I'm still so busy with worrying about how I will be remembered when I'm dead. What I will be known for. And whether I will be pleased with it. I told my sister that I don't mind being cursed to a life of unhappiness and discontentment. As long as it leads somewhere. As long as I get something done along the way. I don't need to spend my days blowing bubbles and walking barefoot through sunny fields of lavender and whatever else is nice to walk near. As long as I've got something to show for it. There are many curses in this world. Creativity is only one of them.

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