This is a
monologue.
I woke up this morning feeling like I was
buried under ten thousand pounds of earth. I opened my eyes, and sat up in bed.
My chest hurt, my eyes were moist and my heart was beating nineteen to the
dozen. The bastard was back. He's still there after all this time has passed.
I could not
face work, so I stayed at home. I thought I'd bury myself in a book and that
would help make it go away. I sought refuge in Thomas Hardy. It worked for a
bit but it wasn't enough. So I tried to
sleep and in my dreams there came the phantasms- people coming to kill me,
armed to the teeth; a tall, fat man shouting his head off at me, visions of me
destroying things I loved and I woke up some time ago, shaking.
I need
release. That is why I am writing this, hoping it helps to get the thing out of
me. It's worked in the past and it should work again. I am trying to stay
positive, telling myself that this too shall pass and in time it will.
Thankfully I have a holiday tomorrow so I can rest up and get back on my feet.
Here's
hoping!
The Bilge Master
No comments:
Post a Comment