Title: A Stroboscopic Sky
Author: Kira [tenshidejiko@yahoo.com]
Rating: PG-13, for language
Category: general, Josh POV
Author's Notes: I started this one awhile ago, and
didn't really have to motivation to finish it right
then, but after all the awesome and wonderful feedback
I receive on Last Song on the Radio, I decided to
finish this. The song is the translation from a
Japanese song sung by the best Jpop artist ever, Maaya
Sakamoto, and is called 'Strobo no Sora', or
Stroboscopic Sky. After listening to it, I knew I had
to write a fic to it. This is my first song fic, so
tell me how I did.
Summery: The late night musings of a troubled Joshua.
~~
It's like the brightness that hits you right after
coming through a long and narrow tunnel
For a while it's nothing but a world of pure white
No-one'll wait for you to prepare yourself emotionally
When I noticed, it had already begun, a tale with no
end
~~
Its odd. The more you think about something, the more
it seems to puzzle you. A weakness of human nature:
over thinking something just a little too much can
drive someone insane.
Or in my case, sane.
Not that I wasn't before. I just like to think of it
as a different state of being. I was there for so long
that to emerge from such a state was – well, not
exactly easy. Life it self had decided to get back for
all those people I've mocked and decided to pick on me
itself.
Everything's been a little overwhelming in the last
few weeks since I've returned to normal life. For so
long I longed for these long days and the work that
never seemed to end. Even when I was in so much pain I
couldn't move I wished I could come into work and do
something to take my mind off of everything. Donna
says its because I live politics.
I just say I was bored.
After being at home for so long, I was thrust back
into this life that had been mine before, but I felt
so odd, so out of place there. I found myself tired by
six o'clock, my eyes heavy and my body aching to
leave. It seemed only my mind was ready and up to the
task at hand. And that incompatibility between mind
and body was what was troubling me.
I felt that everyone had moved on to bigger things.
The shooting was in their minds, yet no longer held
the space in front requiring their immediate
attention.
To be to the point, returning to work was totally
overwhelming.
Being the type of person I am (or am told I am), I
said nothing and just continued on with the days,
trying not to make it apparent that I didn't fit the
same way anymore. I was a puzzle piece after your
sister runs over it with a vacuum cleaner. I was part
of the puzzle, just didn't fit right.
No one noticed. That is, no one noticed for a while.
It was a week and a half after I returned that Donna
walked into my office and shut the door behind her,
her face painted with the type of look that warns you
not to frustrate her more. Of course, I'm one who
enjoys to discover someone's limits and cross the line
just a bit. What can I say, it's a hobby.
"Josh, are you alright?" she asked, her voice carrying
a concerned tone; one I had heard so many times over
the last three months.
"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" I asked. I knew what she was
talking about. The question is, does she know what
she's talking about? And if so, why should I give her
any more information than that which she's created
herself?
"Do you really want me to answer that?" she replied,
sitting in one of the guest chairs. I'm really
considering naming the chair Donna after how many
times she sits in it a day.
"I wouldn't have asked a question if I didn't want a
reply," I quiped, looking down at my desk. Those
reports are looking very good right now.
"Answering a question with a question might reveal
more than a straight answer. What's bothering you?"
she smiled. The smile seemed to contradict her eyes,
which were filled with concern.
"I didn't say anything was bothering me. Are you sure
you don't need to get your hearing checked?"
"Well, maybe, since you bellow my name so much, I
think my eardrums have been permanently damaged." I
look up and smile at her when she finishes saying
this.
"Oh really? Are you saying I caused this damage
myself?"
"Yes, Joshua, you've cause damage to my eardrums. Now
you'll have to do without me until I get them all
fixed." You can't get eardrums fixed, well, maybe you
can. I don't know that much about ears, other than you
hear out of them and women's look nice in earrings,
very nice.
"I'll have to cope."
"Do you really think you'd be able to operate without
me around?"
Uh-oh. She's back to being serious. My plan to lead
her off the sent has failed.
"Yes, I think I could."
"I think I've figured out what's wrong," she replies.
I raised my eyebrows.
"You have?" Because I haven't really.
"Yes, I have."
"Please, enlighten me." I really want to know what
she's figured out.
"You weren't ready to come back," she states simply.
"I was too. See, I'm trying to do work."
"I didn't say physically, although you're attempts to
hide you sleepiness are really bad."
"Really bad?"
"I'm not the one with the high verbal scores."
"Okay, now that we've got that settled, I'm going to
finish what I have been trying to work on for the last
ten minuets." I looked back down at my papers and try
to convey the idea that I'm finished talking. She
sighed and stood, knowing she doesn't stand a chance
against my stubbornness. And some say it's a curse. As
she opened the door, she turned her head back towards
me so I can see her face.
"Josh, I really wish you'd let me help you."
~~
I know
I know, the weakness I crushed in my hands
What was that sound that I heard at such a time?
~~
She did help me. She helped me more than she could
ever imagine. Just because I didn't ask for her help,
didn't viably accept her help didn't mean I didn't
have it. Every day she walked in the office and
smiled, every time she tried to keep up what we had
before our lives had been turned upside down, every
time she gave me that concerned look, she was helping
me. Why couldn't she understand that? Was it just a
secret I knew?
Did I want her to know?
So life went on and I got better. You know what I did?
I fixed it. I faced my fears and told them to leave; I
had better things to do.
Plus, who would want to incur the wrath of Donna Moss
by not getting better?
~~
Where is it coming from?
Who is calling me to stop?
That's the sound of life that spilled out from the
body and pulsates with certainty
~~
It was only after a while that I realized I was
dependant on my assistant. Now, it's not the kind of
dependence that most people have on their assistants.
Honestly, I don't think I'd be able to live without
her.
Sometimes, when I'm alone at home and up in the middle
of the night panting and sweating, I think I can hear
her voice floating in from the living room, asking if
I'm okay. See what I mean about dependence? Though, to
be truthful, if her voice wasn't speaking to me, I
don't know if I'd make it through the night.
They might say it's not healthy, but I say without it
I wouldn't be better. True I still get nightmares and
such, but I know that they're going to be there
whether I like it or not. And all I can do is use her
voice to get through them and wake up the next
morning.
If only I'd have a nice cup of steaming hot coffee
waiting for me when I got to work, then I'd be fully
awake.
I don't think anyone really realizes how much coffee
can be an upper in the morning. True I'm a naturally
energetic person, but coffee can't hurt anyone. Geeze,
did they take books away from Von Savant? I don't
think so.
~~
Those who make dreams come true
Those who are loved
Are fighting while accepting with all their being
Joys and equal pains
~~
I'm becoming a little reflective now. I sit in my
apartment at one in the morning, the TV on CNN, but,
as always when I'm watching it, the sound is muted and
all I have to know what's going on is the steaming
line of headlines across the bottom of the screen.
I don't need cable, just CNN.
It was two days ago that Donna asked if I would let
her help me. I thought all day for a witty comeback
for that one, but none came to mind, so I left it at
that, leaving the office at midnight without even
saying goodbye to her. I think that left her a little
frazzled, since the next day I couldn't go anywhere
without her asking where I was going and following me
there until I had to close the door without her on the
same side of it as me. I know she was worried, but
everyone has bad days. I don't need someone watching
over my shoulder every time my goldfish dies. Okay, I
don't have a goldfish, but CJ does, and she'd be in a
bad mood if it died.
Here's something I've never told Donna:
About two weeks into my recovery, I had a dream. In
this dream I was just standing outside somewhere and
it was nighttime, the moon shining. Donna is standing
in front of me and telling me the whole shooting never
happened, that everyone is happy and work is just
normal. I smile and hug her, thanking her for making
everything better again.
I love that dream. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy
inside.
It also makes me realize that Donna is fighting just
as hard as I am to make everything in that dream come
true. I have to admit that she must really care for me
a lot for her to do this, to fight my battles with me.
That, or she really would like that raise.
I wonder what I did to make her care.
~~
It's like the brightness that hits you right after
coming through a long and narrow tunnel
From between the clouds the path of a new wind
What was that sound that unexpectedly knocked at my
heart?
~~
Then, as I'm reading the recent headlines across the
bottom of my TV screen, it hits me.
Maybe there's something more to that warm fuzzy
feeling. Maybe I care for her the same way she cares
for me, which is why I haven't asked for her help. She
doesn't want to hurt me and I don't want to hurt her.
I feel that if I take her full force into this spiral
of sanity and insanity that I've been trapped in, I
might just take her with me.
But it doesn't look like she'll take no for an answer.
Seems she has inherited some of my stubbornness.
Not that's I'm stubborn or anything.
Groaning, I get up for the couch and assault the
kitchen, trying to find something to drink. One of the
drawbacks of only seeing your house for six hours a
day (at the most) and sleeping most of the time is
that there really isn't anything edible or drinkable
there, unless you count the can of cream of mushroom
soup stuck in the back of a cabinet as something
edible. I'm not a soup person. It must be left over
from when Donna was here and insisted on having my
cabinets fully loaded with all kinds of food. She said
it was just in case.
In case of what, I still don't know.
~~
It's okay to rely on someone
It's okay to have more faith
The sound of life which continuously rings out as if
to so whisper in my ear
~~
Leaning against the cabinet, I examine the can, the
slight dent on the top lid from when the groceries
fell off the table one rainy day. The bags were
slippery and Donna had put them down before they fell
out of her hands and the bag containing the large
assortment of soup slipped right off the table. I was
laughing for days after that one.
The ringing phone tears my attention away from the
dented can, and I place it on the 70's style counter
before waddling over to the phone. Yes, waddling,
which means I kind of swayed side to side while taking
small steps. I'm tired, cranky, and hungry.
"'lo?" I answer. Hopefully, one earful of my tone will
intimidate the caller and they'll hang up quickly.
Pausing for dramatic effect, I patiently await the
click and pulsing dial tone, but none comes. Instead,
I hear a disappointed sigh, followed by some sort of
shift.
"Josh, what am I going to do with you?" Donna's tired
yet impervious voice floats though the phone. Knowing
this conversation is not going to be a normal one for
this time of night, that being under ten minuets, I
turn off the light and head towards the couch where I
can lye down while speaking.
"Buy me a present?" I retort. Her laugh comes through.
Good. See, I can be funny at times.
"Maybe. Are you planning on sleep anytime soon?"
"Not if people keep calling me this late at night."
"I knew you'd be awake, and wanted to tell you there's
a frozen dinner in the back of your freezer." I swear,
she's psychic, she can read my mind. I peel myself off
the couch and open the freezer, the woosh of cold air
blasting me into temporary speechlessness. "I hope you
know how to operate your microwave," she interjects
into the silence.
"I do."
"Right. Read the instructions on the back before
guessing how to cook it and ruining it."
"Whatever." She scoffs on the other side.
"Did you just whatever me?"
"Yup." I'm currently engrossed in the different
instructions printed on the back. You can cook these
things in the oven? Isn't that just against the
character of a TV dinner?
"I call to help you find something to eat and you
whatever me?"
"Yes, I do." I'm so cooking this in the microwave. Why
would I wait 12 minuets for this to cook when I can
get the same thing in 5? Some people just don't think.
"See if I help you again," she retorts. Leaning
against the counter again, I pick up the soup can
while my dinner/snack is cooking (what do you call
something prepared in a microwave?) and examine it
again.
"Thanks," I let out, my voice not much over a whisper.
"Thanks for being there." I think I've stuck
something, because Donna takes a sharp breath and
leaves dead air between us.
Let me tell you something: I hate dead air. Whether
its in a conversation in person or on the phone,
someone always has to be talking. Dead air means
you've either run out of things to say or, in this
case, something's gotten deep. I hear that in Japan,
dead air means the participants are reflecting on what
has been said, and is a very common part of any
conversation. I don't think I'd last a week in Japan.
Maybe that's why I'm never taken with on those kinds
of trips.
Shrugging, I move over to watch my food cook, the
potatoes bubbling a bit as the butter on top of them
warms up in the waves. I still don't know what this is
– its not cooking, because that takes a stove or oven
or something along those lines. This is like microing.
Yes, that's it, I'm microing my food.
"Josh," Donna's voice comes though, reminding me that
I'm on the phone.
"I'm microing," I reply.
"You're what?"
"Its not cooking, its microing. I'm microing my food."
"Josh, its cooking or reheating. I don't think
mircoing is a word."
"Says who? Someone's gotta coin it sometime. I should
get credit for thinking it up."
"Okay, Josh."
"You're not going to steal it, are you?"
"You can keep microing."
"Good, because if I find out – "
"Don't thank me," she interrupts. Why wouldn't I thank
her?
"Why not?" Did I ever mention that I say the wrong
things, or least intelligent things when I'm tired and
hungry?
She doesn't say anything.
"Donna, I'm going to. No long speech or anything,
because I'm too damn tired for that. So thanks, now,
can I eat in peace and go to sleep?"
"Yes, good night, Joshua." I think I can hear her
smiling on the other side of the phone. She's probably
sitting on her couch in her flannel pajamas dotted
with penguins with some ice cream.
"'nite, Donnatella." She smiles again (I'm guessing),
then hangs up.
~~
The fact that rainbows will disappear
The fact that there is moist ground
The miracles that I had always overlooked
Were shining more beautifully than anything else
~~
I believe that things happen for a reason. Yes, I know
what you're thinking. Most people believe that a
person in my position shouldn't believe this, that I
should be angry with God for what happened to me. I
am, believe me, but I'm a little angry with the
insurance company who's coming after me for fifty
thousand dollars. You'd think I'd have better coverage
being a White House employee. I don't. Damn.
My credit now has a big black mark all over it, and
I'm glad my car's only a few years old and I'm already
locked into my lease. Imagine if I needed something
that depended on my credit – it would be hell to get.
Maybe Donna would co-sign for me.
That's definably a thought out of left field. Though
I'm glad she called. My 'snack' is very tasty, and I
once again voice my support for the whole microwaving
thing. Why waste time in the oven if you can make it
just as good in the microwave. Something I should
remember is that some people don't have microwaves,
and have to cook it. Poor them. While they're waiting
for it to cook, they should go buy a microwave.
I wonder if Donna has a microwave.
Okay, maybe I have something on my mind. Knowing every
thought I have is going to be connected to Donna in
some way, I resolve to go see her. I know what you're
thinking – it's 1:30 in the morning and highly
unprofessional. I am a little tired, that's for sure,
and if I do go over there, I'll be grumpy at work
tomorrow.
Oh, hell. I haven't slept well in months. What's one
more night going to do to me?
~~
Oh, I felt like I had been forgiven for being born
~~
This wasn't the best idea.
I'm sitting outside Donna's door at 2 am, my brown
overcoat slung over my pajamas. See, I would of
knocked, but the lights are off and I can't hear
anything inside. What kind of person would I be if I
woke her up this late at night? Certainly not a nice
one, and I'm trying so hard to be just that. Why
aren't I home, you ask? Because, I have to admit, I
got out of breath walking here (yes, I walked) in the
cold weather and don't think I could make it back home
tonight.
Its kind of comfortable out here, leaning against the
door.
"Hey, you!" someone calls from down the hallway. In
the dim light I can see a figure approaching me.
"Umm, hi there," I reply causally, waving with one
hand. The person comes closer and reveals themselves
to be Cathryne, Donna's cat-loving and club attending
roommate.
"Josh, are you drunk?" she inquires, hands on her
hips.
"No, I'm not," I retort. Do they both think so lowly
of me? Slowly, I struggle to get up, my tiredness
getting to me as I stumble as I do so. Cathryne
reaches down to help me up, shaking her head.
"Are you sure?" she repeats.
"Yes, Cathryne, I'm sober. Geeze."
"Its just that you usually arrive at our apartment
smashed," she confesses, unlocking and opening her
door.
"Smashed?" I question, looking up at her from my
supported position. "Who over 25 uses that anymore?"
"Josh, I'm only 26," she reveals. Ahh, I knew that – I
think. It doesn't really matter right now, because
I've sauntered over to my usual place on the couch and
think I'm going to sleep for a little bit. Sleep
sounds very, very good. I knew I shouldn't of come
over here.
"Donna, Josh is here," I hear Cathryne announce into
Donna's room. Oh great. I was sitting outside because
I didn't want to wake her up, and now Cathryne has to
go do just that.
"Josh," Donna mumbles, her blond hair sticking up in
odd angles as result of just waking up. She is wearing
those flannel pajamas, just like I thought. "What are
you doing here?"
"I – I..." Okay, what am I going to tell her? That I was
thinking about her and couldn't sleep, so I came over?
"Are you drunk?" she inquires. All right, that's the
last straw. Do they think that the only reason I'd
ever come over here was if I were intoxicated? What
shallow minds they have. Standing slowly, I reach for
the armrest to steady myself, then stand straight.
"No, I'm leaving," I declare.
"Josh, I didn't mean it like that," Donna tries to
salvage the situation. I shake my head and make my way
towards the door.
"No. I've been around for thirty minuets and the first
thing out of yours and Cathryne's mouths are 'Are you
drunk?' God forbid I actually came by to see you, or
needed someone to talk to. So I'm not steady on my
feet. Forgive me, I'm tired and a little light headed.
How shallow are the both of you that you would think
that instantly of me?" Donna's a little taken back and
Cathryne has made her way from her bedroom to the area
behind the nook. I can just see the edge of her as she
stands listening.
"I'm going home," I finish, twisting the doorknob and
opening the door. Donna moves from her spot a bit,
walking towards me.
"Josh, c'mon, what did you need to talk about?" she
asks, her voice softer than when she greeted me
earlier.
"Its not important," I shrug. Cathryne comes from
behind her hiding space to stand slightly behind
Donna.
"How long were you sitting out there?" she inquires.
Donna shoots her a look.
"Sitting where?" she asks both of us.
"He was sitting outside out door, that's where I found
him."
"Josh," she turns back to me, her eyes holding a small
degree of concern. "You were sitting outside my door?"
"I didn't want to wake you," I confess at a low level.
She smiles and moves closer to me.
"That's so sweet," Cathryne whispers. I see what's
going on, they're trying to suck me in. I always
wondered how women got all the dirt on their friends –
they attack in packs. This reminds me a bit of the
scene in Jurassic Park when the woman and the
Australian guy are trying to get to the shed and the
Australian gets surrounded. He sees one first, then
the others come out a bam! he's outta there.
"I'm going home, Donna. I'll see you early tomorrow
morning," I let out before they can pounce on me.
"You're a horrible liar," Donna remarks, "and it's
late."
"I hadn't noticed," I retort. "Bye." Must. Get. Out.
Now. I make my getaway out the door and start down the
dimly lit hallway. Making my way down the stairs, I
look out the clear glass lining the door to see snow
falling lazily down to the battered pavement below.
I think that was thunder.
Sighing, I pull my coat tighter around me, wish for my
awesome scarf (did I mention my mother sent it to me?)
and make my way into the vestibule. A car passes by
and I recoil – you never know who's out and about in
this neighborhood, especially this late at night.
Leaning against the window, I watch the snow fall
softly onto the thin layer already there.
I should have told her why I came. It seems that
lately I've been running from things. Not large
things, like meetings and such at work, but personal
things, like talking with people and, well, being
myself. Granted, I never had much of a social life
before, but now I don't have one at all. Maybe I have
to take things easy; slowly make my way back into the
social track.
Starting with going back up to Donna's apartment and
telling her I need a ride home.
"Josh?" Oh no, I think she's already found me.
Turning, I see her approach with a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders and a mug of something in her
hands. "You walked here, didn't you?" I raise my
eyebrows. "I didn't see your car outside."
"Ahh," is all I can say. Donna's a very perceptive
woman. I'd never say that out loud, but she is, and
I've noticed. That's just for the record.
"Want to come up? I can't sleep now, and it doesn't
look like you can either."
"Hey, Donna, can I ask you something?" I reply
instead. She looks at me quizzically, opening the
inside door to the vestibule to allow me back into the
warmth of the building.
"Anything." I smile weakly and walk inside – I'd stay
in the vestibule, but its kinda cold in there. I told
you this building should have been condemned long ago.
The lighting in the halls are so dim you can barley
see at night, and I'm sure the temperature is supposed
to differ between the vestibule and inside near the
stairway. Did I mention the elevator went out last
week for the third time this month?
"This building sucks," I comment aloud. Donna laughs.
"That didn't sound like a question," she retorts.
"That's because it wasn't. I'm so glad you've finished
the fourth grade. The ability to distinguish a
statement from a question is important in life."
"Har har, Joshua. And I came down here to rescue you
from the cold."
"You didn't – refer to my previous statement. Your
building sucks, including the heat."
"The heat is fine," she states. I scoff and start up
the stairs. As usual, she follows, and soon falls in
step beside me.
"Right, and you're wearing a blanket because?"
"Its cold."
"Exactly."
"I bet you wear a blanket around your apartment."
"Nope, I have a robe," I smirk.
"You mean that tattered piece of cloth you call a
robe?"
"I've had that since I was in college."
"And it shows," she smiles this time, opening the door
from the stairway to her floor. It's a gift from above
that she lives on the second floor. I stop in the
doorway and look at her, then at my shoes. They're so
dirty, I should really clean them.
"Do you believe that what you've done in a past life
comes to haunt you in the next?" Donna's smile slides
off her face.
"No, Josh, of course not." She places a comforting
hand on my shoulder. "Of course not! How could you
think such a thing?"
"Yeah," I said instead, running a hand through my
hair, "That's what I thought."
"Josh, you did nothing wrong, nothing. It wasn't your
fault, and nothing you did in a previous life is
justification for these events."
"Okay."
"You look tired, maybe you should take tomorrow off,"
she suggests. Me, take off work? Right, that's like,
like, well, I can't think of an analogy right now, but
it would show how much that just doesn't fit. "I know
what you're thinking, so you are going to take a day
off."
"Noon?" I try. She shakes her head.
"Nope."
"One?" I try again.
"Three to Nine," she forcibly suggests.
"Tw-"
"Take it or leave it, buster," she interrupts.
"C'mon," I start. I can't believe my assistant is
dictating to me when I can go to work. Of course, I
must keep in mind Donna's not the normal assistant.
"You okay on the couch?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." We start to her door but I pause
just outside. Cathryne's going to be inside, waiting
to pounce on me again, though it seems she already
won.
"You know, maybe what you've done in the present saved
you," Donna comments, opening the door. "You're
alive."
~~
Those who make dreams come true
Those who are loved
Are fighting while accepting with all their being
Joys and equal pains
~~
Every time I've slept on this couch, I've been, well,
drunk, and have never had this kind of opportunity to
realize just how cushy it is. It is. I think that as
couches age, they become cushier and cushier until
they just fade away into pieces of moldy stuffing.
Bouncing a bit, I grin and drink some more tea (Donna
doesn't waste her coffee by drinking it at night). Let
me tell you something, I'm not a tea person. Tea is
for women who talk over brunches about their kids and
how they got a stain out of their shirt in the
laundry.
"Stop bouncing, you're going to spill your tea," Donna
tells me, sitting in a chair near me.
"So?"
"Then I'll have to spend time cleaning it up."
"Again, I must say, so?"
"Ugg, Joshua, you're impossible!" To this, all I can
do is smile.
"I know," I gloat, taking another drink of my tea. She
shakes her head and finishes hers, standing to take
the empty mug into the kitchen. I hold my half-full
one up for her to take, but she brushes on by,
ignoring the upheld cup. "Hey!"
"Bring in your own glass. What do I look like, a
maid?" I should have expected as much. Standing, I
follow her in and place the mug on the counter next to
the sink. Donna automatically picks it up to clean it,
leaving me to lean against the counter and watch her
work.
"What are we going to do now?" I ask, stifling a yawn.
It doesn't go un-noticed, and she dries her hands
before pushing me towards the couch.
"Sleep," she yawns, "because I'm way too tired to do
anything else."
"C'mon," I whine. I can't sleep, and I don't want her
to know that. She shakes her head, making her way to
her bedroom. "Fine, fine, whatever," I comment, and
resolve myself to lye on the couch and stair up at the
ceiling. The pillow and blanket I usually use are at
my feet, but I don't move to pull them up to me.
Instead, I use them as a great footrest as I examine
the water stains above. They remind me of a fractal,
the pattern repeating again and again as it spirals
down the center, creating designs that could only come
from nature.
Indeed they do, caused by the tenet above them who
always lets their tub overflow. Why they placed a
bathroom above a living room is beyond me, but Donna
claims that these apartments, built during World War
II, have character because of their odd layouts. No
wonder they're cheap.
I can argue that my apartment was built before hers
and is much nicer, but she claims it doesn't have any
character. She says it's too dark, which is why I
don't like it there. I love my apartment, and I've
never said anything against that. Maybe that's why I
can't sleep there anymore. I can't seem to sleep here
either.
Groaning, I reach over and pluck the TV remote from
the table and turn the TV on, careful to keep the
volume down. Ahh, it's my favorite infomercial on
channel 23, the one about the vacuum hair cutter. I've
been thinking about purchasing it, but constantly
remind myself that I'd never have the time to use it.
Heck, I can't remember the last time I got a haircut.
Normally I'd be concerned about not getting any sleep,
but since my warden has decided to restrict the number
of hours I'm allowed to work tomorrow, I think I can
deal.
The infomercial ends and I click off the TV, hoping
that I might be able to get a little bit of sleep
tonight. It's now that I pull the blanket over myself
and place the pillow under my head in a haphazard way.
Donna's apartment is so homey – I think it put me
right to sleep.
~~
It's like the brightness that hits you right after
coming through a long and narrow tunnel
For a while it's nothing but a world of pure white.
~~
Here's a moment of reflection, as if I haven't been
reflecting on things already. Emotions and the
reflections of self aren't exactly my thing, I tend to
stray away from them in the fear that I might do or
say something I'll regret later.
I think I might be okay. Really, I do. Before it was
too early for me to return, but it wasn't too early
because I hadn't recovered mentally already, which I
haven't, it was too early because I wasn't ready to
jump back into the relationships I'd had before. While
recovering, I was kept away from everyone, and used
this excuse to distance myself from everyone. I don't
know if you can imagine how I felt after being
assaulted, as I did, how I didn't want to see anyone.
In true, I didn't want anyone to see me.
I don't like people seeing my weaknesses. I'm the big
strong guy full of himself. I'm not a weakling who
can't even walk or, as of now, sleep. Weaknesses set
you up for attacks of character and integrity, two
things I can't afford to be attacked on with the job I
hold. These ideas of attacks from enemies filtered
into ideas of being attacked by friends.
A fear of rejection.
Bingo, I think I finally solved all my problems. At
least, if I were speaking to anyone right now. I don't
think I've solved them yet, but I have a pretty good
idea.
You know, sleep comes easier now. Especially since I
know Donna is close. I'm ready to face the day
tomorrow, even though I'm only going to be there for
six hours.
Well, that's what she thinks.
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