Wicked City
Jan. 29th, 2007 12:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talkstowolvesThis is the part where I write something incredibly self-aware and insightful that many of you will read and few will comment on. I'll start out rambling and realize I knew more about what was bothering me than I thought I did and come to some sort of committed, if not upbeat, conclusion.
Except I'm both too exhausted and too fearful to examine it too clearly right now. I feel like this city smothers me, lessening a fire that wants to burn so bright. I have conflicting emotions on so many issues. My grandmother speaks of her death and dead women walking the halls of the hospital where she currently rests.
I am so without sleep that my eyes feel bruised. I am constantly irritable and it takes me time to settle into my interactions with others. I want to speak my own words, but then I turn to those of Pratchett or Martin or Hurston or Plath. It's so much more comforting to surround myself with their pages and pages of words rather than belabor the obvious.
And so, as pointless as this is, goodnight.
Except I'm both too exhausted and too fearful to examine it too clearly right now. I feel like this city smothers me, lessening a fire that wants to burn so bright. I have conflicting emotions on so many issues. My grandmother speaks of her death and dead women walking the halls of the hospital where she currently rests.
I am so without sleep that my eyes feel bruised. I am constantly irritable and it takes me time to settle into my interactions with others. I want to speak my own words, but then I turn to those of Pratchett or Martin or Hurston or Plath. It's so much more comforting to surround myself with their pages and pages of words rather than belabor the obvious.
And so, as pointless as this is, goodnight.