Overdosed on my own species

Greetings: here’s the scene for you to imagine: some guy singing and strumming his guitar (spanish style) playing on the kitchen speakers, dishes are piling up (somewhere in between of ‘don’t bother’ and dangerously high) the heater is cranked up, socks on and my pocket journal of thoughts lying face down on my lap. 

The empty whiteness of the screen is reassuring. I have alone time. Home alone. Is it very lonely this aloneness?

I’m starting to reconsider. Today’s scene with (25,000 people) protesters gathered together for ‘Bust the Budget – May Marches’ in Melbourne. Too many unfinished conversations with people i would like to sticky tape to a chair and say

‘ shut up and listen to me ‘

Forget about where you have to be, go, see, eat, meet. 

Just stay where you are. I’m feeling angry with myself for saying all the wrong things, too fast, too enthusiastic, too quickly. Being hurried and floundering for the right words, when all along i had them at the tip of my tongue. Forget about the painful need for reciprocated love (definitely born out of the childhood habit of living with dogs). Damn. But what about all those teddy bears?

I guess imagination swoops in like a safety blanket and saves your child-self from not feeling the love back. What now? What now? 


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