Midwest.
Bitterly cold, like when the very air coming into my lungs hurts and the wind is a repeated bitch-slap.
Snow on the ground - ice underneath.
A good day to sit and think about what the fuck I'm doing with my life.
There are only so many things I can rearrange or clean or attempt to fix without wanting to pull my fucking hair out.
Play the guitar, you say? Sit down at the piano, perhaps? Sure, but my inability to play those instruments EXACTLY how I think they should sound also (eventually) makes me want to just lie down and take a nap.
Unfortunately, I can't sleep. And when the very early hours of the morning come around, my brain starts dreaming about the things I can't fix in my waking hours. Dreams about being lost. Dreams about being in the same place as someone I want to talk to, but not quite being able to catch up with them or have them hear what I'm saying. And then come the pre-waking dreams of day-to-day drudgery: paying bills, refinancing my house, getting divorced, paying for college ... losing sight of everything and everyone important to me.
I don't need antidepressants; I need a series of proper human actions that transport me to the life I want to be living. And while I know that life is somewhere within reach, I am paralyzed by the little details which would get me there.
Just another Sunday.
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