Just one more for a five part harmony in my head
I sometimes wonder if these little bouts of isolation are really none other than some appendage of schizophrenia. It seems that all I want to do right now is listen to terribly sad, desolate songs about heartbreak. At the moment, it's Everybody Plays the Fool. So not only am I resurrecting these little reminders of forays into sadness, they also must be reminisicent of just how bad eighties' music could be. A little part of me wishes I could easily place the blame on a chemical imbalance, because everyone knows what a little miracle pill Prozac is... but the larger, more persuasive part of me cites something else as the underlying cause. And this is terribly frightening; because if I'm not sure of the inner workings of my own mind, how must I venture to decipher others' more complicated thought processes and go on to build meaningful relationships? But then again, maybe it's the voice of pure exhaustion talking, becoming suddenly verbose and outgoing, as it has been squelched both by workaholism and the desire to balance some semblance of a social life, all week. Speak little one, speak.
posted by Sheila @ 9/10/2004 09:40:00 PM
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