Today my head is slightly removed from my body. My coffee is too strong with usually is a good thing, but today it leaves too much acidity on my tongue. I hear noises, telephones, buzzing and some of them seem so close and piercing and some seem really far away. But the telephones are far away and the buzzings are right next to me. I should have stayed in bed, but I mustered all of my energy to put eye shadow on and do my hair and get dressed. In the shower this morning I could hardly turn my head, my neck was so achy.
I finished my poem yesterday, but need to go back in today. Polish it up, cut some of it down. I started to panic that I’m writing too many drafts of these poems because the things I read seem to spontaneous and flowy and like sparks that just happened upon a page. But then I remember they don’t start that way. Finished poems just make finishing poems seem easy. I don’t know if that sentence makes any sense. My brain is molasses and hard honey. It’s strange how things are amplified when you’re sick. All the white noise becomes real noise, the only noise, and all the real noise becomes white noise. I hear the air ducts above my head louder than anything else. They’re blowing like jet engines
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