a vent in my revolving doors.

tomorrow morning cant come soon enough..
finally some contact with the outside world.
when illness has held you hostage in a bed, for a week.
you become sad. weak. tired.
not sleepy tired.. just tired. of what your life has become.
schedules, nothing t.v., trays of food. clear drinks.
temperature takings, remote controls.

its nice to be free. to breathe new air.


not to complain. to be ungrateful to be okay.
but it was awful. the sickness itself, not bad at all.
not even close to what they made it up to be.
just long and bothersome.. but being confined.
that was the worst. locked away from everyone.
feeling like youve become some monster,
that will terminate anyone who dare come near.
im fine. your fine. were fine.
but i would cry. one of the lonliest times.

crazy huh.

i wonder if youll ever read any of these...
i mean your ignorant to these pages of mine.
i wonder if youll ever find it.

its nice to have music in my ears.
to type. because i dont write remember.
its weird.. ive tried to write. but i cant write fast enough to keep up
with what i have to say. resulting in me thinking. way way too much.
quite incredible.

amazing how there is nothing to do around here.
no wonder kids have so many toys.
childhood. the most fun times.
when you had no need for a dollar
for your day to day lives.
if only we knew what we were saying
when we spoke of being older.

foolish foolish children.

no fun for me.