biting keeps your words at bay
tending to the sores that stay
happiness is just a gash away
when i open a familiar scar
pain goes shooting like a star
comfort hasn’t failed to follow so far
and you might say it’s self-indulgent
and you might say it’s self-destructive
but, you see, it’s more productive
than if i were to be happy
—The Dresden Dolls, Bad Habit
I was jittery and nervous all day.
Several new developments have left me with a lack of resolution. People to meet, presents to give, pictures to take, responsibilities to fulfill. And as much as I try not to think about it, it’s in my nature to do so.
I still haven’t gotten passed this feeling. Still don’t know if I want to. Still don’t even know what it is. All I know is that it’s making me manic.
Until I figure it out, I’ll wallow in it.
I can only write this at night. When I’m falling asleep and off my guard, sitting on my chaise, with the curtains drawn and the window open to the winter air.
Now I feel like writing, but I don’t even know what to say. Everything’s too jumbled for me to decide whether I’m happy or sad. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s one because of the other. Life, at the moment, is so bittersweet.
Wonderfully bittersweet, that’s what it is.