A heart attack in red hair dye

It's finally somewhat quiet in my world, and in my head. The steady procession of thoughts through my mind like ants on a path has slowed to a trickle, and I feel a break in the momentum. Mind you, this isn't enough to bring sleep my way. That has many miles to go before it reaches this residence (for reasons quite intimately known by myself, and no others).

The substance leaves me hollow, but at least the words can flow through now. It's so contrived to say that self-destruction is often the facilitator for good writing, but all the same to say so would not be a lie.

Inexplicably my shoulder-blades ache, and the recently omnipresent pain in my chest hasn't lessened-- symptomatic, I suppose of the abuse I've been putting myself through this break. But all things worth having require tribute of some sort, and during these static days, I have only and all of myself to give in destruction to the cause. Time feels at once too short and indefinitely long, which makes me feel oppressively heavy in this world through which I trudge. Though it would be the easy choice,I refuse to stand still; and so to combat the weight of the times, I let Ms. Sontag's sensibilities sweep me away in a whirlwind celebration of the artificial, the banal, and the brave.

That being said, it may seem as if every line, every phrase-- every word is a chemical fueled blathering, this is not so.

It has been a struggle--and not a mindless one.

The combing over of every detail of my life has been ever-present in the background of these events; it has been the impetus for changes I have made, and the changes that are yet to come, and I find it frustrating when such due isn't given, even in retrospect. Because of this, for posterity I will state that this winter will be dedicated to the (oft painstakingly detailed) labour of building up the self I wish to become.

It will be a winter unique from any time previous to now, and at its completion I will stand stark and without need for exposition, a creature made and self-evident for the changes. I make my way now under the wings of a kind (and sometimes smirking cherub) with a new guiding light and a new creative force.