Mornings dissolve into poetry

Mornings are the best time. When I see the sun rise on a new day it inspires a positive attitude. But a morning that starts with the dark feeling still lingering in my blood predicts a significant struggle to get through the day. Some mornings I would calm this restless anxiety and feeling of doom with a couple of shots, just to calm down, just to not worry so much. But maybe I shouldn’t…

Last night I watched an 11 yr old piano prodigy answer questions between his stunning performances. He was asked what he likes to do other than play the piano. It’s a question he’s been answering since he entered the spotlight. He started listing things.. sports, school, writing, swimming, playing with his brother. He went on and on. I thought to myself how I would answer the question, “What do you like to do other than work?” Everything I can come up with I miss, I haven’t seen or thought about in weeks or worse, in months.

Writing. I used to like to write but writing takes focus and a clear mind. Writing takes being able to stir around your emotions and take a look at them, reshape them and create something beautiful from them. Every thought and emotion I’ve had recently I’ve wanted to hack out of my heart with a knife.

I’m a bit crazy right now and being smart and crazy is a wicked combination. You know you’re crazy but you can’t do anything about it. Smart people should be able to control themselves. It’s like watching another person.

Recently my mind has sent me back to a place I was a year ago. Same story as many times before, driving too fast, drinking too much, music too loud, no fingernails, and the need to destroy myself. I thought about him many times but when the fuel of my mood met the spark of the song, I reached out to my ex. I wanted to hurt myself, relive the guilt, betrayal, passion, and failure of the time. I didn’t want to go back, I wanted to somehow move forward again.

We sat on the couch and watched TV and petted the cat. We watch hockey and history shows and drank some beers. It was the same as it has been. There was not a single change in him except he seemed more calm towards me. We didn’t have sex. We didn’t fight. I liked him as a person again and he subtly told me he was still in love with me. On one hand it was the boost of self esteem I needed at the moment and on the other I felt guilty for using him to make me feel better. On one hand I hurt him and on the other I hurt K again. If we cancel those out, my goal of hurting myself was accomplished and I got to watch a huge tv with 800 cable channels. I suppose it’s a win, a weak win.

Now K is softly snoring in bed while I sit on the floor and type. These might be the first moments I’ve had with my own mind for awhile. I know that I’ll push down everything that’s happened and go back to grocery shopping and working and running but at the same time there was a sense of emotional urgency that is unique to myself.

I wish I could write poetry or songs, something to remember it all by.