All Choked Up

I went to bed at 845 on a Friday night. I am not sure I've done that since the mid-nineties, or maybe once when I had a 4AM call the next day. I WISH I had something like that happening so I wouldn't seem like such a loser. However, all that's on the plate today is a softball game and a free screening of a film.

Something is wrong, my darlings.

I have been trying really hard to keep myself under control. I have been carefully tending to the dam that's holding my emotions back, allowing myself a moment or two of introspection and then closing it off before things get ugly.

Now, I'm tired. I am tired of not feeling anything, and of not being able to say it. I am sick of being vague to protect everyone from what may be hormonally-based statements that are wilted from the steam of the fear percolating in my belly.

Wow, who's PMSing?

I don't even know where to begin. I need to make some calls, put down some shit for people to pick up. But my thoughts have reached the spin cycle, and nothing makes sense. I'm so concerned with being eloquent and fair and focusing on the REAL problem that I can't say anything at all. As a result, I haven't been saying anything. But you can see the forced silence in my eyes. I can never hide anything genuine...because it shows up in these blues of mine. Even though the mouth is smiling, the eyes are sad. I can feel it.

I don't even feel better after writing this. I don't know what else to say.

546 AM. g