Summer Journal

It’s not a fucking diary. Resentful, these days. Need to get away and get my head to myself, stop all the buzzing. Make a lot of changes. Try to enjoy anything. Tricky to spark the dead eyes into life.

There must have been a time when bitter, broken, blinded mind was live and lithe and thinking better thoughts? Better give up everything for which I fought – I didn’t mean it, son.

Let’s assess. A fight on several fronts but, I confess, they all run into one when I put my helmet on (and oh, here we have come, return to combat metaphors and stupid half-comparisons just to make my head feel calm and seem that I am doing something worth a damn).

What I have sought to do for my whole life, create, and somehow it is no longer a joy, I am realising too late that all my joy comes from escaping. Is that enjoyment or perceived necessity? Either way, a shame, my mind is messing with me, it is no longer on side.

I can start to think, and build a structure of the life I want, a compromise in places but a focus on myself, but when I think I see all these contraints, that push me back and make my head spin until I feel almost faint. To garner what I want I have to make some choices I would view as unwise…

But I firmly disbelieve all around me. And as such, surely everything is fiction.

You won’t enjoy reading this. I didn’t enjoy writing it. I need to fix what I am doing with my life. I need to reclaim the inside of my head.

There it is again. The buzzing, the scraping.

I’ll grit my teeth.


About dcduell

Failed musician. Trying to write for TV. Never sure quite where I'm headed. Serial un-funnyman. I used to do a lot of writing. Sometimes I still do. So I decided to put it on the internet. I'm on Facebook and Twitter. Pretty active on the former, not so much on the latter. Holler at me.
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