Sinister

My desire to keep me an observer of life has actually kept me from living one.

So what’s going on here?

Is there something wrong with me?

So innate, So deep.

Was I born this way? Or am I the product of a wound?

I am sullen I know for sure.

The tears come without warning.

He told me last night there was no way I’d ever make it through law school.

I believe he is right.

Possibly he was just rattled because I spent money we don’t have and I drank a bottle of wine.

Whatever makes us feel better I guess. My actions, his words. Sometimes the opposite.

Sitting at work at 9am, drinking coffee, reading a book about the trials and ineptness of left-handed people.

I don’t want to be at home; he’s doing that thing again where he’s overworked, stressed and irritable.

I am feeling my dependency. When I speak as if I am reaching for something in thin air, he seems indifferent.

The last time this happened, I found myself seeking solace in another place, a human place, to be honest.

I don’t plan to stumble upon that again, but what’s going on here is far too similar.

My head aches, the pain is too much.

The pressure of  wanting to get away in any and every way possible.

What am I missing?

Am I lazy? Am I  just sad? Suicidal again? All of the above?

I know I can produce more than this, I know I am capable.

How do I perpetuate my passion into action?

I feel like such a  burden to my family.

My self-indulgent gloom must be a heavy wight on more than just myself.

I want to write a book. This may be part of it one day.

There’s already a book, not to mention a song, called “She’s Come Undone,”

I’m staring right at it.  I’ve read it before…one of my favorites.

I was going to reread it being how it fits my present demeanor, until I was handed this book, “Lefties, AKA Sinister”  book from Nina.

Seriously, that’s the Latin root word for being left handed…SINISTER.

I must be oblivious to my own self destruction.

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