Tired.

The weight of fatigue showers my body, drowning me in a listless haze as I try to put synapse firing into typing words.

I came out here to get back to routine after spending a few days at my aunt’s and cousin’s in the Bay Area for Thanksgiving.

I’m tired.

I got sick from staying at a house of recovering relatives.

It’ll last a day or two, but eventually I’ll get back to normal.

* * *

I was supposed to continue writing my pages this weekend, but I had to postpone it for another week because of this. I can’t even put thoughts into words nor even brainstorm or see the next few scenes.

I have an idea or a general direction as to where I need to go, but I just can’t today. It’s not going to happen today. Not today.

Even these words don’t make much sense nor are they any good.

I’ll have to manage.

* * *

Tired.

The drive up north was stressful.

I don’t think I have hated driving so much in my life as I was stuck behind late holiday travelers who thought they’d hit the road early to get to the bay area like me.

They just don’t know how to drive as I was stuck behind brake tappers and just inconsiderate drivers who like to cruise stroll in the passing lane like they are no other drivers on the road.

By two hours into the drive, I was ready to stop and grab a drink. Whiskey. Liquor. Libations. I needed it.

But when I got to my destination, things go better.

I settled down and just caught up with Cynthia and just chatted.

We talked about everything from my shrink, to me not wanting to be in a relationship and how my mom cries because her sons haven’t provided her with any grandchildren yet.

We talked about children and how I want them, but not necessarily a relationship and how I have looked into adopting and what that entails.

Out of everyone in my family, she’s the one that knows more about what is happening in my life.

We talked about my brother and how I saw so much great change in him and also about my father and how feel guilty about his death and how going to the shrink is helping me through that issue.

We talked about how she was doing, how her mom and her siblings were doing. It was a good talk, a chat, a tete-a-tete that was much needed.

It was just great to do that, to spend that time with family.

My aunt for the most part seemed fine, as she seemed really happy to have seen me at dinner. But it seems that she’s non-stop keeping busy, not resting or sitting, but always having to do something. I agree with Cynthia that she thinks it is a way for her mom to distract herself from everything.

It was kind of funny how Auntie told Cynthia to cook me dinner that night, thinking that she would be so rude as to make me fend for myself. It was also funny that Auntie called later that night to see if I had eaten, if not to go over to her place to eat.

Funny.

Family will always be family and I am glad that I am able to have that connection with them.

Like I said in many earlier posts of mine, I am the connecting point of all family; those of the west coast, the south, and those on the east coast.

Maybe that’s why me wanting a family is so important to me and not necessarily having a relationship.

* * *

Tired.

Sick.

Fatigued.

I can’t put thoughts into words. All things are elusive.

Healing. Slowly, but surely, the rational is pushing the irrational aside.

Slow and steady it is making its way into my consciousness. How long do I have to go? I don’t know.

I’ve always been a rational creature. I’m very pragmatic. It just makes sense.

Time to make a change.

* * *

Tired.

The day moves slow. Seconds tick by in what feel like minutes, hours. Time slows while you are sick so you can feel every extended second in misery. Pain. Ill.

* * *

I can’t put any thoughts together and to think I thought I would be able to actually do any creative writing today, working on my script and what not.

That is not the case when all that fills my thoughts is sleep.

Oh the beautiful comfort of my bed, caressing the sore tired body. Oh, the tenderness of being horizontal, curled up in fetal.

Oh my bed, my bed!

* * *

Goodbye my almost lover. Goodbye my hopeless dream. I’m trying not to think about you.

It is time and you know it. It time.

* * *