a day of mope

When the sun rose behind the red tree in the backyard I noticed how muted everything looked. This morning I couldn’t see much color in the world. The sky was a soft pink, a light white blue. The grass shaded gray, the red tree caught in a silhouette.

I got up early to write – it was still dark out and even before I turned around in bed, even before I opened my eyes, I felt alone.

I’ve been moping around this morning. Trying to write, writing a few stanzas and giving up – not that what I was doing wasn’t working, I just suddenly felt tired of being me. What do we do when not even our skin feels tired, but our spirits too?

Well I know I cry a lot and am wearing two of my boyfriend’s sweatshirts in the hopes that I can cover myself with something/someone else. I know I tried to sleep another hour on the couch, pulled the blanket over my head to block out the sun now fully awake. I know I thought about what it would feel like for people in my life to pass on – not that I ever ever wish that, but I’ve been lucky enough for death to never hit close to home yet. I’ve felt it knock, but it’s never entered. That sort of loss is not something I know and it terrifies me. I’m not even sure I feel like posting this, but I suppose I will.

This is harder than I expected it to be. And I worry about the day it’s going to get even harder.

I ate some pumpkin bread, warmed it up, drank cold milk, played a video game that I haven’t played in years and I immediately felt guilty for it – for playing the game. The thought that I could be writing, reading, expanding, creating. I could be doing so much more right now, fulfilling more, being more. I should be looking at the leaves, looking at the colors – they just seem duller today, there’s too much cloud cover.

I’m already behind schedule – starting a monday behind might not be a good thing. But monday can wait.

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