Am having such odd days to think of. One moment I am happy, feeling great, and loving every minute, looking forward to things and thinks and thoughts. Next minute, I hate it all; all I want to do be on a train out of here or have a good cry or write something fiery or read something I can get my hands on, but I a, paralysed. Of course, I know in my head that I am not really stuck, but it doesn't help.
I tried to write an introduction for one of my classes and I couldn't do it. I wrote a lot of things, several different versions, but all I could see were what horrible things I was doing wrong, why I couldn't do . . . things. I don't know what kind of things.
If Lewis were writing this, he'd say they were eldila, the evil kind. Or at least the Director would. Not Lewis, perhaps.
My favourite song since I was thirteen has been the same, and somehow it seems to lull a little bit of this all away. My valkyries keep gyring, spiring to and fro. The promise of white linens and gentle grasses seem so close I catch glimpses of it all so close and mirage-like. It sounds dumb, I know, but I can't think of any other way to put it. Kind of like a mantra, though, these words.
Hope does not disappoint us.
This song, too, is good, and this one, but they're most of them from a kooky Christian band. The words are good, though, which is better than I can say for a lot of popular music.
I have to go to sleep. What a horrid feeling. Gah. And no, it is not your fault. It is my fault and martyrdom for a nonexistent cause is foolish, so there. Dumb. Lame. And I must go to sleep. After an hour of the gym I should feel better, at least.