.ebb and flow.

The space inside my head is a tangle of webs and spiders.  Webs catch whatever is good and the spiders work quickly to drain, leaving behind dried husks that blow away with the slightest breeze.  I try to dip inside and pull out something meaningful or at least something worth rummaging around for but all I come up with is soft gauzy wisps of nothingness and dessicated remnants.

Two clear days are followed by a day nailed together with gloom and self-loathing.  Today I am carrying with me my hammer. 

I'm not sleeping well.  I can hear the hands from a not-really-there alarm clock ticking, ticking, ticking.  Only I don't know what it is ticking toward or if I should be worried.  

My baths are so hot that they turn my skin pink.  I tell myself to relax.  To breathe.  Everything is going to be fine.  But I know that there are no guarantees.  Statistics are our bedtime stories.  Fairy tales.

After three days spent back "home" Leif is excited about things to come.  Right now I am just relieved that he is here with me.  Safe. 

I think I am too indulgent.  That was the word I was looking for all this time.  Someone else found it and presented it to me without even knowing that she did.  Her words giving a form to my thought.

Today I am the mangled mess of metal and rubber that people slow down in their cars to look at and cringe.  That girl is so broken.