Jetlag

Exhausted does not describe how tired I am in the middle of this sleepless night. There are too many thoughts to think in this dark room where I am awake alone (and I am alone). Sighs and cries and yells are ways to relieve myself of explosions trapped inside. I sleep in the middle of the day so I won’t have to entertain thoughts of conversations exacerbating my frustrations. It’s the classic line we hear it all the time but from you it seems true: It’s not me; it’s you. (The timing’s just not right).

I’m jetlagged from this trip. I’m jetlagged; I want rest from this.

I talk to you and nothing’s changed; you only want to be my friend. And that’s as far as you want to let me in. (You won’t let me in.) I want something more with you. I’m stuck uncertain what to do, and all of this only magnifies how inadequate I feel otherwise. Ambivalent in life’s direction, battling joy fused with dejection. If someone who finally likes me shuts me down then what chance have I got? This situation epitomizes disorientation.

Agonizing thoughts of going home 'cause it means I will be alone. And every time the phone rings I’m reminded it’s not you calling me (you’re not calling me). You said I’ve done everything right, so why am I by myself this night? And how can I not be drowned with doubt when this seems to be my thornside fate. I am the king of the mountains of failings, and this one adds another slate. "Wait and see" and "Time will tell" and other void and cheap clichés try to cradle me while inconsolable I remain.

©2007