My OperaHangover... the Cliff... and think a little.
Sunday, June 15, 2008 2:44:01 AM
Whatever "it" is. . . it's like a hangover. You know, the wake-up-in-the-morning thing that makes you realize you have nothing to live for but a sour stomach and a migraine- no hope for a breathe good enough to kiss your...love. No, not that person you can't remember making out with the previous night--- but your love... your real one--currently in possession of one or not--- your breath just wreaks of old habits and the residue of whatever happened last night, I mean... in that past that no one else is suppossed to know about.
Whatever "it" is. . . it's that haunting memory that refuses to fade. You know, the first thought that hits you like a bullet in the morning. It makes the blood rush to your head- kind of like what happens when you stnad up to fast.
If you don't mind. . . I'm going to be blunt. Whatever "it" is to you. . . "it" sucks. I suppose it is all about who you are and how you manage your emotions. I'm not going to lie. . . I'm good at painting on a facade every morning after I wake up. I place that migraine in that numb part of my mind. I use that sour sensation in my gut to motivate me to get out of bed and go into the bathroom. . .I proceed to take a glance into the mirrior. . . you know, the one that tries to talk to you every morning. "Hey you! I don't have a nose or anything, but you look like smell like a latrine. Looks like you went partying last night, had a few too many whatever-you-call-em's, and drove head-on into a steam engine. Mind explaining yourself?" That's about the exact moment I turn on the shower and take off everything that reminds me of last night, or the past or whatever I'm trying to forget. I let the hot water sting my back and I can feel the cleansing. I suppose it reminds me of standing in the rain on one of those really bad days-- You know, when you can cry and no one will ever notice?
I've learned not to taste anything either. I just hold my breath and swallow. Apathy-- it's great until you get tired of not feeling anything. It makes you want to sleep all of the time. Sometimes forgetting takes alot of work--and then to heal yourself- you have to work even harder to remember all of those things you tried so hard to forget. I wish it was as easy pretending to be a duck and letting the water run off of your feathers.
The moral of this story. . . Hang over the cliff and think a little. But don't let yourself fall. Remember. . . it's the falling that's easy. . . It's the hitting-rock-bottom that can kill you.
Whatever "it" is. . . it's that haunting memory that refuses to fade. You know, the first thought that hits you like a bullet in the morning. It makes the blood rush to your head- kind of like what happens when you stnad up to fast.
If you don't mind. . . I'm going to be blunt. Whatever "it" is to you. . . "it" sucks. I suppose it is all about who you are and how you manage your emotions. I'm not going to lie. . . I'm good at painting on a facade every morning after I wake up. I place that migraine in that numb part of my mind. I use that sour sensation in my gut to motivate me to get out of bed and go into the bathroom. . .I proceed to take a glance into the mirrior. . . you know, the one that tries to talk to you every morning. "Hey you! I don't have a nose or anything, but you look like smell like a latrine. Looks like you went partying last night, had a few too many whatever-you-call-em's, and drove head-on into a steam engine. Mind explaining yourself?" That's about the exact moment I turn on the shower and take off everything that reminds me of last night, or the past or whatever I'm trying to forget. I let the hot water sting my back and I can feel the cleansing. I suppose it reminds me of standing in the rain on one of those really bad days-- You know, when you can cry and no one will ever notice?
I've learned not to taste anything either. I just hold my breath and swallow. Apathy-- it's great until you get tired of not feeling anything. It makes you want to sleep all of the time. Sometimes forgetting takes alot of work--and then to heal yourself- you have to work even harder to remember all of those things you tried so hard to forget. I wish it was as easy pretending to be a duck and letting the water run off of your feathers.
The moral of this story. . . Hang over the cliff and think a little. But don't let yourself fall. Remember. . . it's the falling that's easy. . . It's the hitting-rock-bottom that can kill you.
Cheers!
