Mamarati

I always manage to cry around this time of year, huh?

It’s OK. I laid awake for more hours than I care to remember and thought about things.

Much like trying to avoid a depression, I tried to figure out what would make me feel good about this. Well, maybe not good, but less like jumping eleven floors.

Did I mention that elevens are speaking to me? I’m not sure what they are trying to say… but they are speaking. Synchronicity.

Sometimes I hate jung and his damn theories. But I guess if not him, someone else would have come up with that crap.

I need a sabbatical.

At any rate, I laid there thinking, and I wish I’d actually laid there writing, because I did have some good thoughts. For a brief moment I could see ahead of me. For a brief moment I could see reality, and the fact that it’s not so bad. And I wondered why this rock is so heavy, I mean, I’ve been carrying it for eleven years now, and it should have been worn down a little by now. eroded away some. Or maybe this year is the first year that it starts to erode. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe that’s what I’ve been afraid of. Afraid of doing her a disservice by letting the natural healing powers of time in to help me… feeling it would be disrespectful of her if I didn’t spend some time every year around this day thinking about her sadly, mourning the loss of her.

But she’s not dead. I have to always remember that. I didn’t kill her, though I could have…

I shouldn’t vilify myself. What I didn’t wasn’t bad or wrong. And it matters little what the first thing is people would think if they knew. what the first question they’d ask inside their head would be.

I know what those are, though.

I wish people were different.

Anyway… I never took that bath last night, so I think I’m going to go on and try to take one this morning real quick. I stayed at work late last night and have been bringing stuff home. So I think it won’t kill anyone if I’m in closer to 9am than to 8:30.

More about this later. I do have a story to tell…