18 December 2009

Morning

The sound of the radio hauled me into the present, the inane chatter dances along the borderline between bearable and irritiating as always, and as always I think about retuning it but don't, the well worn dialogue of my internal debate seeping through my conciousness.
Waking up knowing I haven't written anything for 4 days, recoiling from the derisive voice telling me I've letting people down again, no surprise there; recoiling from waking up as me.
Perhaps the radio is part of the problem, I wake up with other peoples words in my head, song lyrics being particularly pervasive, today I will find it difficult to forget "I'm safe, up high, nothing can stop me, so why do I feel this party's over?"  But every day, more words, more phrases, not just songs but fragments of speech, words I have read or written or thought.  They jump into my head and whirl around, dropping some bits and connecting to others, and how then do I tell if it is my voice speaking when they come out?
Small wonder then that I trust the only distinct voice I know, the one that tells me to forget about trying, it won't change anything, just turn over and go back to sleep.
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