Eighth

On Sunday, I spend all day feeling like a stranger. Even in the places where I most belong, it felt like I somehow lost my place. Or maybe I removed myself from my place. Maybe it was never really mine, or it didn't really exist in the first place.

My moods have been weird all week, and that effects everything around me. Suddenly all of it is strange, like it's ceased to be MY world. I can't hold it all in one place, I can't hold any of it in once place, and it puts me at a loss for what to do. So I reject everything. I have to run away, retreat, recuperate. Count my non-existent losses and heave a sigh, before I lurch back into things that I've lost my grasp on.

I hate admitting when things get difficult, because then I might have to admit I need help, or can't shoulder it alone. I'd have to break from my independence, which I generally detest maintaining anyways. Yet I've been doing it for so long giving it up is just inconceivable.

I don't know whats going on lately, I just don't. Things are being funny with my body, it's like half my feelings have either blown up or vanished, and I'm just sliding by and doing the motions.

Know what else? I hate keeping track of time. I hate the box it places you in. I hate having to keep it, I hate having to uphold it and regard it. I hate knowing when things happen or when I have to be somewhere. I want a day, all to myself, with no time pieces at all. Things get to happen at their own pace, nothing really matters when it gets accomplished or if it gets accomplished at all. A day unrestricted by time, where I can just exist and be for however long.

Just a day.