Donna Noble Has Left the Library…

Drafted my new schedule in Excel yesterday.  So that’s done.

I feel like I’m writing around a hole in my chest. I’m scared it’s burned up all my creativity. I don’t want to write my blog. I don’t feel like doing letters, or logistics.

Lyrics from 21 Pilots keep playing in my head.

Gangsters don’t cry
Therefore, therefore I’m
Mr. Misty-eye, therefore I’m…

Can you save…
Can you save…
Can you save my heavy dirty soul?

 

The plan thus far is to write a letter, write the blog and look up those Morning Pages instructions and find my resume.

Stay in your lane, boy…lane boy…

We’ll see what I can get done.

Jumpsuit, Jumpsuit, cover me.

Maybe it was too soon for a schedule. Maybe a little more holidaying would have been nice. Binge-watch Dr. Who or read a whole book in one sitting.  Read until the pain goes away.

Sunny outside.  Plus twenty.

Maybe I’ll go for an ice cream and a hair cut.

Except I keep spontaneously bursting into tears.

Its like I know what I’m doing, where I’m going, what the mission is. And then I forget.

The last bout happened when I saw a rainbow on the basement floor in the dark, where I had never seen one before.

I love rainbows. Little blades of burning colour and light. Real magic. And an ancient symbol of promise after storm.

Can I take that?  Can I take it that way? Was it for me?

The in-between makes it hurt.

No.  No magic here.

Just a temp from Chiswick.  Nothing special.

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