Fook-it-ol, my lurking creepers.
The days have been dark and grim, yesterday it rained and stormed. I’ve been a miserable mess since that little fluff ball died in my arms.
So small with such a big impact.*BOOM* Straight in the core of whatever is left of pitiful me, she just went and left a gaping ulceration of agony.
Some call it silly, some find it funny. But I do not feel entertained at all. I do not care for cheerful displays, all I do is weep all day in bed, soaking in misery.
Maybe it is yet another excuse for me to procrastinate and waste my life away? Maybe I’m embracing my accepting my manic-depressive tendencies far too wide. The fact that I’m mourning the death of a loved one just adds to the pile of hurt inside. Hurt that I can’t seem to learn to lay aside for an entire day. Maybe just for a short while, to fake a smile through my teeth and pretend the puffy eyes is a new fashion style.
Flesh wounds will recover nicely in due time, eventually. But there’s a hole in my heart, a whole a gaping hole in my soul. And all I could think of these days was: Fook-it-ol.
But not today. Today I treat myself on a fine bottle of blood wine. I’ve picked up the Chronicles of Narnia from the dusty bookshelf. I need to read more. I used to devour books when I was younger. I figured I should just pick that up once again.
I have been drawn to the Chronicles of Narnia ever since I was a child. A good book to get lost in. God bless C.S. Lewis.
And so I sit and I read and pretend life as I’ve known it was merely a sad dream. Oh, if only I could wake up from all of this. If only I could access Spare Oom and the War Drobe, to tumble through thick coats and land with my face in a world covered in snow. If only…
But I have wasted precious minutes whining in here. A nice bottle of wine and the world of Narnia awaits me.