Penguin Ring.

I bought a plastic ring for $2.95, it has plastic penguin beads in it, and sparkles. I’ll upload a picture when I am home. My world is a whirlpool of strangulating emotions, though my feelings are so faint I can barely feel them, yet I am half paralyzed by their presence. I am twiching and jittery. I have been prescribed a second medication. The pill is bigger than the first. It is blue. I look forward to how it will fuck with my brain chemistry. My blood is red with hot panic, often. People feel like salt on my skinned flesh. I want life to be normal again, my eyes and visions normal again. Where have I gone? Some distant vacancy in my brain reserved for my sanity when she decides to leave. I am of course by no means insane, and the word perhaps has no meaning. Dictionary.com tells me insane means to be mentally deranged, and deranged is to be disarranged. Mentally disarranged. That makes sense. I am mentally disarranged. So am I insane? Insane is a heavy word which translates images of white straight jackets, Anthony Hopkins as Lector, and the like. Insane is rarely a young, physically healthy, attractive woman, going to school, living fairly independently, cowering in the back seat of a restaurant, trying to keep her head from falling off her shoulders. It is a precarious place, the neck. I want to break glass with a baseball bat. That’d be nice. It would be satisfying. I can barely knock on the neighbours door to tell them their music is too loud. So maybe that wouldn’t work. I want to ride a giant dog. A dog as big as a horse. I will be known as Dog Woman. It is lovely outside. Sunny, with a blue sky. I bought a stressball, it makes my hands smell like condoms, but otherwise it does help me relax.

I want to stay here forever, and just write. I want to make an explosion. I want to feel something huge. My own personal Hiroshima. What can I say, good metaphores can be disrespectful. Good art is often disrespectful, towards something. It is a part of life, ying and yang.

I want to run for miles and dive off a cliff into the ocean, and swim to a remote island and spend the rest of my days in tropical peace. There would be big bugs, but I could deal with them.

About Moon Eggs

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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