I'm discovering, begrudgingly, that I'm addicted to busyness. It's my drink. My escape. If I can just stay busy enough, focused on an almost dizzying amount of activities or responsibilities, then I'm safe.
Well, it's Spring Break and there are no classes. No MUN. No work. And I'm housesitting. Alone. In the quiet. And it's really not so good.
It's really late now and I can't sleep. I lie in bed angry and tearful. Brilliant, witty comebacks spring to mind and I whisper them to the pillow beside me....but the words come years too late. Already, half a dozen poems have flitted through my mind, but I haven't the strength to write them down. I just think them and keep them on my mind's page. They're angry, hurt poems and it's probably good they're not written down.
I love the quietness of Spring Break, I love the ability to breathe and just sit and do nothing. But I need school to start again.