not the hell it used to be

I think that the one lesson I can gather from my daily experiences since well, I was born, is that the Universe doesn't give a shit about you. It doesn't care about love. It doesn't care about lingering dreams. It doesn't care about what you want. It doesn't care, it doesn't have the ability to care, or know who you are in the muck of working human ants that we are. So, my advice to myself would be to get off of my ass and do something about it because not doing so is just about as bad as staying in your frat house after college eating ramen at twenty-nine.

So what is happening now? Well, I am waking up slowly. This has been happening since the end of the summer when I rode back on the bus from Columbia and my intestines were in knots. I felt like I was going to throw up for an entire week. Then it occurred to me that it was either fight the demons off or spend the rest of my life feeling compelled to be pulled to the past no matter what the cost. Ultimately, I'd have to throw away any progress I have made. Which I never knew what that was, I still don't, and if asked what is different now I would say, "Well, I have more drawings in my portfolio and am a few months off from being done with school. My rent is higher and so is my cost of living and I am not getting paid any more. I am just waking up to see this after a long sleep. I have illegal things scattered throughout my home but none of the guts to take any of them. People are really fucking broke and a ton more depressed. I have a boyfriend who can stand my internal dialogue and conversations with myself for longer than a drunken lay. Oh and I have two Siamese cats that destroy my house nightly, catching bugs and such, but not the important ones that are killing my herbs."

Whatever happened when I was asleep -- every insane story that I gauge I will not forget -- is something that still seems like a nightmare, but not of the worst kind, somehow I got away with none of that. I mean, once you're out you're not sure if it is as bad as you thought it was, or as it could be, no matter how close to death you were at a time. I'm also not even sure how I even handled as much on my own as I did. How I kept so much of it a secret and still am. But now I am awake and it was just a dream, that's what I tell myself. I recall it like a dream as well. So much of it was embedded deep enough that I may never be able to remember a thing.

Anyway, so here I am, waking up from something unexplainable. I can't say that I think it'll get any prettier, maybe in my own head. There I still have room for aliens with spirals in their head that are visible through a glass skull and zombies eating my chest. I still have room for a real capacity of love. I am still everything I know of myself to be. Somehow it's just not the hell it used to be.