Still Winter.

Is time standing still? Am I invisible? It’s all blurring together. Sleep. Work. Does it matter if I shower? Hunger isn’t what it used to be. Maybe I’ll sleep all day tomorrow.

Ever feel like you’re in a glass tube, moving through life? You can see things as normal but sounds are muffled or non-existent. You can’t reach out for any help. You’re very fragile but you have nowhere to hide. It’s often hard to breathe. You just can’t get back to the normal, regular you.

On a lighter note, I picked up a new kitten today. I told the kiddies it was for a playmate for Nigel but secretly she’s for me, she’s my other half. She’s beautiful, never complains, sleeps a lot, has lots of love to give and nails for days. Dream girl. Oh, and she purrs when I pet her. What? Purrfect.

Maybe I should be learning something from within this tangled web of melancholyistic downtroddeness. I’m not, I fully assure you. I mean, is there really any such thing as true happiness?

Look at the state of the world. Look at your own definition of being happy. Is it finding your “one true soul mate” and putting all your life’s eggs into that basket, only to one day not only lose him but your entire world? If there’s anything I’ve learnt these past 8 or so months, it’s that a marriage should never equal your happiness. You need to know that on your own first. Or, backwardsly enough, after. In the wake of.

What about the person who has everything? She’s worked hard and she deserves the stuff she has that fills her mansion and her garages. All her trips and all her personal staff are the result of what she has put in. Yet that empty void inside… no degree of purchased happiness can fill it. And she will literally die trying to achieve her state of happy, throughout a long, painful life of sheer emptiness.

And so it goes. Are you happy? Fleetingly probably and I get that. But even for me, until now anyway, the fleeting happiness is still based on shallow surfaces that were made to collapse under that kind of duress. I dont have anything to stand on that won’t wash away when the tide rolls in, in this world at any rate.

I wonder how that kitten is doing, all segregated away in my bedroom so as to ease in to life here, especially in regards to Nigel. She’s similar to me in that sense, kind of on the outside of the world and not even looking in, just walled out. She hears the defensive hissings of Nigel and sees the paws reaching under the door but like me, she retreats. She lays down, puts her head down and waits. And this is all she knows, at least for a day or two.

She is pure and she is beautiful, just like I am somewhere deep down inside. I can’t see that now and maybe in her, I will remember.


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