sonnets
i like their construction. i think i shall... adopt them for a while. though with a mind to honesty, because poetry, i find, has a knack of making you forget to focus on what you really meant to. the very medium which (i think) should be only about honesty can so easily slip away into only what sounds like honesty. rosehips and memories and tactile sensation and high romance, it wasn't where i was going really, because really rosehips and memories and tactile sensations were what i wanted to write about, but not high romance, human romance. perhaps i can perfect this over time.
and the whirlwind of family life continues and everyone spins in their own orbit at a speed too high to be safe and i feel especially dizzy and my gravity is all out. i don't know where i stand, and i have no clear perception of what my relationship is with anyone at the moment, just a vague disconcerting feeling that it is certainly not what it should be.
i'll try and lose myself in byron and shelley, except i want to turn their thoughts into a new more clarified dignified version of my thoughts, their lives mix with mine as i read and i end up pondering my own rather than escaping it.
thinking about the doctor. thinking about the pill. thinking about blood pressure and strokes and questions. i don't want to go really, but the pain was so bad...... i just want any way out of this, and if the side effect is not getting pregnant all the better i guess...
and i feel like i'm floating in space weightless and no air just floating and waiting and looking at the calender and floating and waiting. and when i should be very happy, how is it that i am just nothing?