Posted November 30th, 2006 by JennyWren
Well, since my husband has taken my spot on the couch, and I’m up anyway, I might as well see what comes out of my fingers tonight.
Midnight confession[als]. We’ve all got colds here, and I think a slight fever is leaving me susceptible to doom and gloom. Playing beautiful music isn’t helping. It seems to be a catalyst for emotional "outbursts" (overflows).
Everywhere I look, in everyone around me, there is corruption. Bitter or jaded hideousness, even in myself. How can it coexist with beauty? Not as contrast…they seem almost like alternate realities, ghosts in each other’s world.
When I’m feeling all "morose" like this, I am overcome with the need to spill out what is really there; it looks like emotion, but feels like meaning. I don’t think there really is anything there anymore. When I was younger, I thought there was more to me, I had so much…so much I wanted to do something with, to share. Now I am only a shell; anything that was inside is paralysed or stunted, or has atrophied by now.
My inability to face or accept reality has left me with the grief of time lost, things I haven’t done, and by virtue of that, things that have been done, and that I can’t take back.
A different record drops on the turntable, and the mood changes. A sweet tune about nothing in particular, but the notes bring on an overwhelming amount of emotion. Music can carry us or drown us. Why do we let it?
I am saddened by words spoken tonight. But how can you blame someone for speaking their truth? It may even be your truth, as well, only unrecognizable because of the lack of mask.
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