Stupid Cuba, don’t they know you need a Home Depot?

Sometimes I disappear into my head. Without warning, everything shuts down and I can’t speak or think or do anything that makes me feel sane or normal. I have moments of feeling really good about myself and about a lot of things in my life. But then I turn around and there they are again. I can’t write anymore. Do you know that? I just can’t. I sit down prepared to write something that helps, something that has been swirling around my head for days, but nothing comes out and I become frustrated and angry and desperate because if I can’t do this, what will I do for the rest of my life? When I hit that wall, the one that’s too big for me to climb, what the hell am I going to do?

I can’t write because everything is a lie. I can’t tell the truth because no one hears me. No one hears me because I can’t write. I can’t write because everything is a lie.

Three months ago, I dreamed that I wasn’t alive and I wasn’t dead. I was holding the hand of someone who was dead and we watched people mourn his passing. We laid flowers on graves. I laid them on his, kisses his casket, and said goodbye. I felt no pain, just a subtle, soothing melancholy, something so sweet that waking up made me want to weep.


Posted on July 9, 2005, in All about Sparkle Pants, Dreams, Writer of fictions. Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Stupid Cuba, don’t they know you need a Home Depot?.

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