Highway

"And we don't say a word. There's nothing to say that hasn't been heard."

And I don't know why I'm here, why I'm continuing to type.

Because I have no words to say.

Today was quite possibly one of the worst in my life.

How could I be the only one to cry?

Was everyone else aware of some trick of the mind that keeps you from crying?

Are they hardened to emotions?

I had to stand outside for half and hour, by myself, trying to stop crying.

The rest of the five hours I sat in some sort of stupor, on a sofa covered in a pineapple motif.

It was the only piece of furniture in the funeral parlor that didn't match the wallpaper.

I did not go up to the casket.

I think I would have truly lost it, had I done so.

And tomorrow? Oh tomorrow will be horrible.

I can't do this.

I can't.

Because the thought is making me cry. I am crying right now.

Here, at the computer, tears are rolling down my face.

I can't actually see what I'm typing.

Because my vision is blurred with tears.

My face turns all blotchy and red when I cry.

So it's very apparent to anyone I see that I've been crying.

Silent, and salty.

That's what crying is.

And what can I do to stop this?

This sick feeling? These bulbous tears that snake down my face?

I can't do anything.

I am powerless to emotions.

They control me.

It was stupid of me to think that I'd possibly be ok.

My steps towards okness were flawed.

The path to being ok is pitted and rocky, and very uphill.

And my energies have been drained.

In twelve hours I will wake up and have to piece myself together.

Get spiffied up and load my pockets with tissues.

I can't do this.

And I want more than anything to have my inbox say "(1)"

So I can go to bed feeling a little more ok than I am feeling now.

I want to knock myself out with benadryl and sleep until Tuesday.

But guess what.

Nothing goes as wanted, planned, or expected.

So the heavy feeling will continue on.

Good night.

I love you.