Writing, Running, Being.

The finish line is a shifty Thing and what is life, but reckoning?
Ani DiFranco

Monday, September 11, 2006

to drink, pray or run myself into oblivion

it's sunny and cloudy at the same time and i have many things i could do but nothing that i really need to do. my mail box is empty today. i was expecting a letter or a bill or both. my fridge is empty. the canvas stares back at me from my easel, empty. my bottle of contact solution, empty. my stomach, empty. the box that used to hold my grandmother's jewelery before i pawned it all away, empty. my soul might as well be empty. empty empty empty. if you say a word over and over that's what it becomes. empty. empty. empty. even empty's own name. what is that? onomonopia or something like that. nothing can fill me today. i had a swim. i had a shower. i had chamomile tea and scrambled egg whites. i had a ride. i had a pounding headache. i finished a book. i started a painting. i had a dream. i woke up. nothing can fill me today. nothing can fill me today. i want someone to tell me that it's jesus. it's jesus that i'm missing. because then i could just close my brain and open up wide to let him in. i could throw myself so easily one way or the other to cure this. i could convince myself of heaven and truth and salvation and a divine perpetual friendship. i don't know whether to drink, pray, or run myself into oblivion. which is where i feel i should be. i choose to run because it's the only thing i can feel right now. i want someone to tell me that it's jesus that i'm missing. that he was here all along and i just couldn't see. then we could all laugh because you always laugh when what you were looking for was right before you all along. can't it just be jesus? it'd be so easy. i could talk to him without feeling silly because believing means it's real. even if only to you. i could go crazy or i could go christian or perhaps i could conform and sink sink sink like the rest. it's cloudy and sunny at the same time today. the sky is dark but everything else is bright and now rambling on and on to tired keys is no different than plucking tired strings and draining tired pens and tired tubes of water- soluble oil paint. i told you nothing can fill me today.

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