I am working on too many things at the moment. I don’t sleep enough; and I feel there’s not enough hours in the day. when it’s raining, I hate it. when it’s sunny, the day feels wasted, because I cannot be outside to enjoy it. I was so sure that I’d be leaving this week; and I am not. I am not sure what to do with myself now. we thought we were running out of time, the panic, the sheer frustration of not being able to do everything we want to do. we are both still here, but we don’t know for how long. I am always looking up flights, but every week it’s to a different location. different continent. I complain of routine, yet nothing in my life is stable. balanced. it is a terrible way to live.
so many words had collected in my brain, notes, various pieces of scrap paper. I collected words all week. but they’ve disappeared. it’s all gone. you think too much. yes, I know. but I don’t know how not to. constant migraines, chronic sinusitis. we escaped to stanley market, to hear and smell the ocean. to drink from a bottle on the stairs and watch kids and dogs running around. to kiss under the stars and listen to the waves crash on the shore. to be, to exist, to breathe. we escaped. on the way back, something hit me so hard on the top of the head, my eyelids dropped. another episode. all those goddamn air-conditioners. he massaged my head and face for half an hour; slowly circulating around my eyes, behind the neck and ears. he taught himself what to do with moments like these. words never help.
I slept easily that night, but it was a disturbed one. a nightmare kept coming back to me. laying in bed, four o’clock in the morning, startled. I realized I had no idea where I was headed. I could end up anywhere.