i’m sick of my heart and would like to trade it in for another. that would pretty nice right about now. lash up the parts that aren’t working and get a new one that is New! And Improved! where i don’t have to worry or fret or fidget with old wounds or hurts.

i get afraid that my heart is permanently messed up, damaged goods and it’ll keep messing everything up. that because it’s been dropped and kicked and punched, that it will never learn its lesson and let up or be able to return to whence it came from–a place that’s pretty and unjaded and not awaiting disappointment and salty tears.

[cue background noise: wah, wah.]

i just feel like the last month has not been good to me and this little heart of mine. october: you are no friend of mine. and it just makes it hard because matter of the heart always float to the surface and take precedence and color and tinge everything else around them.

but how is that surprising? the heart is so important to everything we do and every way we live our lives. it’s supposed to be soft and supple and easily bruised. that’s what makes it so effective. we just tend to want it to be something it’s not: a machine that you can control and that is indestructible. mine isn’t like that. i wish i could turn it off and type in the command, “don’t overthink these things, don’t do this, don’t do that.” but it never listens. it’s an unruly heart. and while i’d prefer one that’s more disciplined, i know that’s not what i really want. because that’s a poor excuse of a heart.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

i’ve been sad and upset for about a month now. and i’m sick of talking about it. i’m sick of thinking about it. i’m sick of even dealing with it. how do you move on and recover from soemthing like that? that’s what i’m trying to do. because recovery is not an easy process either.

that seems to be the dominant theme here: things aren’t easy.

and while i can appreciate that in theory, when it comes to real life i struggle and trip over it. and get all tangled up in it. which is where i am. i think if i were cast into a movie of my life, the camera would pull back and there i’d be sitting on a sidewalk, sprawled out with yarn unspooled all around me as people rush by and look down but keep on going, shaking their heads. and i can’t for the life of me figure out how to pull all this yarn back together into a ball that makes any sense. or any sense that even a kitten would want to have anything to do with. much less a fellow human being.

and i’m not trying to be melodramatic. i know it sounds that way. and that you might feel like your first inclination is to email me and ask if i’m ok. here i’ll go ahead and tell you, “no i’m not.” but i think right now the answer isn’t for you to try to make me feel better. because i feel like i’ve already been too self-indulgent. i just want to let it all go and keep moving along. i want to let all that go and quit trying to make sense of all these hard times and just release them. just let them float away and start off new. stand up from the pavement, shake the string from my limbs and skip off down the park and watch some old men play chess and little kids run around shouting and moms watching nearby as they read a book. that’s what i want. it’d be nice to still believe in santa, and add that to my christmas list.

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