Endless Days and Sleepless Nights…Numb Fingers Too Dead to Write…
Posted by Layla Winterborne on Tuesday, 26 January, 2010 @ 11:25 pm
The days which once ebbed and flowed together in a delightful blur have become jerky and mangled in their flow. Once beautiful in it’s own surreal fashion, I am approaching a month of minimal sleep which instead of turning me into a productive and poetic insomniac, as it often times is wont to do, I have become a mind numbed zombie whose only desire is to laze about, not quite taking in the images displayed in the soft glow of the television in front of me.
I am not an avid tv watcher.
Reading and social networking seem to require more effort and strength than I currently possess and my writing has fallen by the wayside. Cory blames the majority of this sudden turn inward on work and the loathing which I feel towards it…and I am apt to agree.
Though I try to not let work interfere with my personal life, it is beginning to take its toll. 14 hour days at a place that I hate…arriving home exhausted and not being greeted by sleep because you dread tomorrow…
My creativity has been sapped.
I have found, though, that in my stupor I spend more time talking to the animals who share this house with me. However, I do not talk to them as though they were babies. I just can’t do it. Hell, I don’t even talk to babies like they’re babies. I often times find myself addressing children as if they were adults. Baby talk is grating to the ear and it makes me uncomfortable talking to “Wittle Wobby Wob” and looking for his “binky”. *shudder*
As a child, I was obsessed with proving that I was a smart as the adults. Even now there are days in which I feel that this is something that still must be proven. Every year, as the clock of life moves another year forward, I find myself promising that this year will different…that 21 will be the year in which I will be viewed as “an adult”…22 will be the year…23…
Yet, why do I still feel like such a child? Because in my own way I am foolish?
Anyway…
I DO talk with the animals, though. A LOT.
The ruler of the house, Zeus, is the one with whom I have the majority of my conversations. He is always more than willing to sit and listen politely as I discuss books and my love for raspberries and give him advice on his life. He is a terrible begger of food and instead of yelling at him (because he is terribly adorable), I attempt to have rational conversations with him about his addiction.
I’m constantly trying to help with his problem, and, you know, of course he doesn’t respond. He’s a dog. The most I’m apt to get out of him is a look of eager hope asking “Hunk of cheese? Ham? Even that boiled egg would do!”
I’ve been approached by several people, commenting that my talking to the dog about his problems is actually quite crazy in itself and I understand this. While I do ask open ended questions, I realize that he will never understand me on any type of meaningful level and…even if he did…he could never respond…
I was told that talking to the dog was folly…that these conversations aren’t REAL…
…and I’m no atheist but…
The damn dog is RIGHT THERE…begging for cold cuts right at mine and your feet. If you and I are real then so is he. We are all on the same basic level of REAL.
A dog in the hand equals two invisible beings in the bush.
The dog does not speak ENGLISH but at least he IS.
