How can we be happy in a universe that asks us to feel and experience, yet we tell ourselves to calculate, to be safe.
I didn't know what to write. I haven't known what to write lately. I've known what to draw, what to play, what to read, but I haven't known what to write. The urges are there, but I ignore them because following them seems futile. They don't change anything. They never did really, but then it felt like I was doing something when I did decide to write. I was unleashing worries and uncovering the things I had buried. It was easy to manipulate words so that nothing was explicit, but it could still be understood. Now it's hard and since it never seemed like I was pushing myself before, I didn't start.
Maybe I should have. It feels eerily like I lost something because when it knocked on my door, I turned it away. Quite often, muffled whispers scratch and nibble at my brain and I want to feed their hunger, quiet their yearning. Yet when I try, I start without finishing. I don't allow myself to reach that state where I am swimming with my thoughts, picking them out as they hurl waves of emotions toward me. I don't want to think about the details of my life that are often written unintentionally, the ones that make me begin in the first place. If I did, I would have to concentrate on what is, the present. Life sticks me in the back while soothing my headaches and washing my feet. But I'm so used to the flavour that my tongue doesn't process the signals anymore. There's so much I could say, so much to contemplate, but how does it differ from how it will be.
Ah. Now I know what this is about. It's pretty amazing how our minds bring things up without having to flash neon lights every time you pass something important. I don't want to pass anything. I don't want anything to pass me. Time is so precious, so finite. I don't want to lose it. I don't.
I guess I was just trying to find a feeling.
The woman with the wound was in pain. She had hit her leg on a rusty bin, but took forever to come in. She was very quiet and small. Her wound looked interesting, some would call it disgusting. A scab was forming over it before it healed on the inside (sounds a lot like us humans right? I keep making simple statements profound) so it was covering the bruised blood beneath. It had to be cleaned and softened, then the blood underneath squeezed out. Need I say which the painful part was? The covering and wrapping was cool. These packets with small square cloth like fabric were opened, soaked in hydrogen peroxide, then placed over the wound. Then they wrapped the mesh gauze around that, then used strips of medical tape gauze to secure that. She’s not allowed to get it wet, and she can’t eat fish or pepper. The woman wouldn’t look me in the eye until the very end. She kept looking at the nurse alone, but I guess since I was there long enough, she succumbed and began talking to me.
The man at the eye clinic looked at my glasses, which are partially broken but wearable, and told me he would tell me what was wrong with them. So he comes back with this paper, looking a lot like a prescription, and presents it to me, and on it is scrawled the word ‘UGLY’ in nice big letters. -_-
The first woman that had come in, her son had been murdered recently, and we got the tale. It was… I don’t know. It’s easy to get used to these things, and that’s the sad part. She wasn’t the only one to say something similar.
Also, an inmate came in, I didn’t even notice the handcuffs at first. He was dressed in white from his cap to his shoes, looking immaculate and scrawny. His head was shaved and he had these beautiful orange and white beads around the dark skin of his neck. That’s what captured my attention the most. He was friendly, polite, and said thanks with a smile. He looked more decent and interacted with you better than the man escorting him, who stood in the doorway lasciviously eying people.
Speaking of which, one of the nurses had these pretty eyes. They looked big and soulful, and just really beautiful, even when there was no shining emotion in them. The other nurse had a knowledgeable way about her. There are these series of questions that they ask everyone, a long list, longer for women. I now know most of it. I also answered the phone, made cotton swabs, called patients in, but those parts seem insignificant. Lunch and everything after was boring. I met some young people. Actually, I met a whole lot of people today, some kids who just did GSAT, saw old friends twice, was angry and took it out on the man at the cafeteria. They will be rotating me among the different sections of the clinic, and I won’t have the time nor desire to write long descriptions everyday.