28.2.00

When Too Much Chocolate Just Isn't Enough

Sigh.

I'm fine, really. Honestly.

I just feel a bit... vague today. Daft, silly, stupid, quietly unintelligent. I need some sleep, but I'm not sleepy, just unbearably tired - as though my muscles were made of brick and my soul made of plastic. I could sink into bed but never make it past the shallows of a light sleep. Curling up under my furry blue blanket, arranging the pillows just-so, tucking my teddybear (her name is Mary, for the curious) under my arm, hiding my face in the special purple blanket I usually hide in... not merely welcoming sleep but throwing it a party. Yet I know it won't come immediately... it will let me yawn, and it will lull me into a false sense of sleepiness with some stretching and that scratchy feeling underneath my eyelids. Oh, Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream...

And when it comes, it will bring me nothing but nightmares.

I'm being angsty again. You understand, don't you? If you don't get it out somewhere, it wells up inside, and who knows where it will manifest. It could be a month or fifty years down the track, and I couldn't tell from here what form it might take. I'm squeamish and have a conscience, though, so I'm fairly certain it won't be through mass homicide.

That probably doesn't comfort you at all.

On the home front, both parents gave me some peace and quiet today, despite the fact that I copped out and didn't go to work. I made a half-hearted promise to my mother about cleaning my room before she left for church, just to get her off my back. I did pick up some clothing and rearranged some books, but it wasn't long before I was sitting cross-legged on my bed playing flute. I don't play terribly well, mind you, but it's still soothing. Did you know that it's fun to play a traditional sort of instrument to metal music? Really, it is.

The father didn't bring up any of yesterday's issues at all. Not that it makes me think that he's forgotten all about his promises to kill Nathan, or the way he called him and his family "white trash yanks." After large, drawn-out arguments, when they've dwindled from screaming and yelling and angry threats to sniffling and headaches and sore, tear-filled eyes - everything he says is still there. It usually takes alcohol to bring it back to its original strength, but I know it is bubbling along underneath.

Today he was courteous. He played some silly game on his laptop computer and we laughed about it; he bought Pringles and shared them with the mother and I. He chose to watch "A Very Brady Sequel" on tv tonight, displaying his rarely seen whimsical sense of humour. He didn't care that I spent most of my day at the computer, like he usually does.

Do you know what I'm looking forward to most after I leave here? Being able to sleep, uninterrupted, in Nathan's arms. In his home, with his loving parents and only-sometimes irritating brothers. In a place where there is affection and love, and acceptance.

Maybe then sleep will come fast, and bring with it only dreams of joy and happiness.