Coping

I had a great idea recently, that, at least I hope, will help me cope even further with the few memories that pop in my mind every now and then from the hospital. It’s infrequent, they’re bite size pieces of half information and half imagination, but honestly I still find them terrifying. I decided that I’m going to do my best to draw what I can see picture perfect in my mind down on paper. After all, that’s how all great art is done, and I may not be much of an artist, but I do have the imagination for it. After all, just look at my poetry.

Speaking of ideas to help me cope, I’ve decided to start keeping a personal journal which will jump start a sort of… memoirs if you will. I don’t really think it will be interesting, and it’s a very far jump to say anyone will want to read it, but I think it will help me out a lot.

It’s very clear in my mind what started me wanting to do this, and I can fully and easily tell you. Casimir Pulaski Day, written by Sufjan Stevens. Basically, it’s about a girl who gets bone cancer and a few of the snippets from her struggle and what it does to the people she loves and who love her. I’m not so arrogant to say that I feel as blessed as the people who have survived cancer, but I do feel blessed.

Speaking of blessed, and it’s a leap as is. I realize I get mad easily about things, but… some things I still feel I have a right to get angry about. And, just to point this out. Instead of making excuses about me getting too mad too quickly about things that you people say, why not examine how much I say to actually offend you. Call it a fact, call it a perspective, call it just talking, but watch your fucking mouth before things get out of hand. It’s not like I’m running around showing it off, I talk about it when it’s natural in conversation, I even try to hide it from you because I know it makes you uncomfortable, so do me a favor, and try to hide your nosy opinionated beliefs from me.

Point, set, match.

Blessed be.

Admittance

I'm scared.