I'm sitting and reflecting on the week partially laid out before, or behind, me. I realise most of it is lost because nothing was really going in, while everything was happening. There are all these musky, new and fresh smells, but unknown because the sniffles deny access. I am asleep with noises next to me. They wake me up. On the bus you can sit and commit to Marxism theory. We'll think that the conversations will not have to happen and you can be left to quiet contemplation. They'll think that hearing about events, facts and exciting revelations is the perfect way to pass "met time". We arrive at the destination, still aware that this is desired. Reality for you is conversation, in which participation is no escape. For them, it is the sign of 'recovery'.
What should we want more of? Everything flies in and out of vision. I'm only aware of this ceiling, clouds adorning the surface, though outside the night sky gleams. Reading this back is becoming an impossible necessity, with the consequence of no correction or 'life-edits'. Does it reflect what I cannot face? I wish I could paint my nails better and drink tea elegantly whilst looking out across the water at lawns and flowers, adorning the grounds of such a country dwelling. I wish I could hide away in my own little world and no one and everyone would question my motives. I wish for all these photos to be taken down or turned around, if I can not have the memories in my head, why should they quizzically stare me in the eye? I hope my cat shall not leave me alone in the night when I feel like she is the knot on this dock's key. Let's walk along in the secrets of the garden path, looking round the corners of leaves and tree branches. Time to feel ill in feelings of human emotions, so sick with happiness and then so swollen in sadness. There is no want, need or must in a cluttered and empty mind.
Marxist realisation: the ceiling is just painted very badly. We feel guilty holding secrets. Brush strokes here and there.
So, can I fall away again now? Reality is just not as pretty. I did it to myself again. Walks are no solution.