Monday, July 27, 2009
I am not sure what to write anymore. I am unexcitable, if I may take the liberty to make a new word for the state that I am.
I have imprisoned myself at home so that I will feel safe, and like all institutionalised members - of prisons, asylums - I do not want to be free, the idea of the vast spaces of freedom scares me. I would rather stay in and do familiar things, even then, only things that I can muster strength to do, and then in pleasure, only extreme things like gorging on chocolates or ice-cream. Otherwise I find things to clean in the house that I can bear to.
I don't feel like painting, writing, or playing music.
What I would like, is to buy some fresh flowers and candles to put in the house, to further encase the comfort of my home which I will barely even leave. But I have no spare cash at the moment for such unnecessities. To solve the problem I browse the Ikea catalogue.
There is nothing else I can do to solve the problem. I am far from able to work even though I try and I want to rehabilitate myself. I think of what a weakling others must brand me, for not working, and I cannot seem to rationalise to myself that I ought to take it slow. My actions prove indeed that I am slow, but I feel unease about the fact that I am not moving along faster than I am now.
When will I be free? I am not sure, but I am not sure either that I want to be free. Prison sentence, or simply a furlough, either way it is safety, and I want to cherish it.
Now, perhaps a spot of chamomile tea, and an enjoyment of post-rain coolness tonight.