what is all this monkey business for after all?
Emotions suck. Feelings have a way of taking simple things, conversations, laughter, events, and creating meanings of their own.
And now I know why I don’t like to clean my desk. I find things. Things such as my plaid sheet of paper, torn out with frustration, with a few lines scrawled with red Pilot Precise pen (I have bought a 12-pack in 11th grade and will NOT write a poem or serious reflections without one).
I have this way
of laughing at
words on the screen
and animated illustrations
as if I could understand
the language I don’t
see.
-self, unfinished, written sometime in October
Now I know why I need to stay busy, to work, attend class, study subjects that force my brain to occupy itself with other things besides thoughts. Thoughts of another.
And I must stop. Unanswered questions have a way with squeezing my heart, kicking my ego and sending my thoughts running in circles.
How is it possible for one human being to have so much affect on another?
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