darkling

I've been (attempting) to write all stinking day long. And what's the first thing I do when I force myself to stop? Oh, you know, the usual.

Write, dang it. I'm still writing.

I think I've decided I'm a little bit nuts. But that's normal, right? You would think over a year straight of school I would be the first to realize that I am going crazy. But, no. It's everyone else who tells me, "Um, Jessica, you have lost your marbles!" and then I'm the one who laughs back at them because they just don't understand.

Well, maybe they do.

I'm starting to realize just how much I don't understand. It's a no brainer, yet at the same time, I kinda sorta hope that every day I'll become just a little bit smarter and wiser. Some days I feel like the opposite is happening. There are even weeks that go by that leave me feeling like I'm turning into a sillier girl. Curse you, regression!

I think my mind is darkling. Darkling. Isn't that a great word? It's been my new favorite word of the day. Keats used it. So did Hardy. (For the record, I think I prefer Hardy over Keats, but that's just me. And then if you asked me to choose between Hardy and Hopkins, Hopkins would win. Such is life).

Darkling. It's almost like sparkling, but not quite. Sparkling into darkness, maybe? I think I like that. It's paradoxical, and I'm in need of a good paradox to describe my oxymoronic self.

Sigh. Darkling. Why won't the light switch flip on? It seems like I'm still groping around for it. Sometimes the room is dim; other times its completely pitch black. If I'm lucky I'm sparkling into darkness.

It's been awhile since I've had a non-darkling day.

Darkling.

Maybe it's time for bed. And maybe when I wake up, my darkling self will finally disappear.

And maybe someday I will be able to see clearly again.