I can’t sleep. But I guess that is obvious. Tomorrow I begin working again because I have come to the end of my much anticipated spring break. My chest hurts. In the past two hours I have tossed and turned in my bed unable to identify the exact source of my anxiety besides the obvious which is of course all the stress associated with my job. I have a sneaky gnawing suspicion however, that my job is not the only reason why I’m sitting here typing away at this ungodly hour.
There is some stuff that I think I left unattended. And although the reasons are difficult to articulate they remain here in my chest…heavy like emotional congestion. I wonder if Robitussin makes a medicine for this kind of cold.
I suppose that I must be on the verge of some kind of break through or breakdown depending on which half of the glass one focuses on. And I guess the challenge that I face as a human being/artist/writer is to confront it the best I can without fear. Another writer friend of mine told me that no matter what I should always tell the truth. I have always admired people who could do what she said. Although I’m not sure if I am one of these people yet, I’d like to think that my current path is leading me there. I remember thinking once that when I grew up (as a writer) I wanted to be Sherman Alexie. I don’t know or maybe I just haven’t paid much attention to any other writers who are quite as honest as he is. I wonder what he writes about at 3 in the morning when he can’t sleep.
The funny thing about congestion is that it is not pretty. And all of that truth that I’m supposed to be writing about is all green and slimy. And the thing that is scariest of all is how people might react to all that nastiness. Hence it remains in my chest unattended for now. Anybody got a cough drop?
