šŸƒAmanda22Janeā¤

Ghost Writer
2016-05-02 02:52:42 (UTC)

Mondays...

are the beginning of a new week for me. Well now I see it that way. It used to be that I saw Sunday as the beginning of the week, because it's The Sabbath. That's not the case as Sunday signals the end of the weekend and "on the seventh day God rested." I get myself in a weekday twist over traditional meanings. I don't know why people hate Mondays. Maybe it's because of the way we organise time and Mondays are a long way from the next weekend with employment hours to fill up the week ahead. I do have a great deal of compassion for those who hate their jobs. Fuck some jobs aren't easy to fulfill these days. I understand that.

I feel a spirit of HOPE alive in me today : a wonderful thing that grows outstretched wings of peace into the rest of this day.

So much to do this week and not a great deal of motivation to cover the workload. I need to revive a reward system. One really challenging job is not getting done from week to week.
I can't let it go on this way...

Cuzzin D. called me this morning and asked about a sketch she gave me over two years ago. It's the second time that she has brought this up. I wonder why she keeps asking about the sketch? She gave it to me and she's not getting it back. It's a drawing of a female Christian warrior dressed in battle regalia. Before she handed it over to me she intentionally de-faced it and I ended up doing a trace copy and threw the original away.
At the time that she"presented" it to me, I got the distinct impression that this was not her work to begin with. I've seen her style of sketching and this drawing did not look like hers.
I could be wrong...just fucked off with people hiding shit from me...especially so-called family.

Half the time I don't know what the fuck went on over the past two years with regards to a particular aspect of my life. To this day, I really don't know and maybe I never will...I believe that I'm entitled to know some things so that I'm still not partly going out of my mind thinking that it was all psychosis, because I know it fucken well wasn't. Half the terror is not knowing and half the anxiety is unacceptance of the reality that I may never fucken know. Lastly, I live with a small, dark, powerful and secretive narrative that I may indeed have to take to my grave because there is literally no-one I can tell.

Staying in the relative safety of my bedroom today. Only venturing out for food and to use the bathroom.

Busy week and I want it to be.





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