Long Day

Wrote these ages ago. Found it hidden in the "Draft" folder of my email account:

"What is my end? I am lost in a bewildering nimbus of sadness. My thoughts reverberate into faint, whispering echoes; shattering the impenetrable silence. No consolation at all."

 

le 28 mai 2002 mardi 14h37

 

The beckoning rays of the sun pierced through the steel skylight of the cavernous newsroom as I meanderingly type and translate. Type and translate. Copy and paste. Edit out the off-key phrases.

It is only a front. Mechanical. This mask of productivity is hiding the innermost cortex of my soul... or what's left of it.

I went to work just to forget about the pain that is slowly lurching inside me. Slowly churning my innards and sucking away the remainder of my crushed heart. When is this going to end?

I'm wallowing in self-pity and there is no one I can turn to. No one. Not even myself.

I can't think straight. The fonts and the icons on the monitor screen blur as tears cascade down my cheeks and I stop typing to wipe them off.

Work seems like a million light years away. It seems as if I can't continue what I'm supposed to finish...

I have to force myself to get this done with. I have to... I have to...

 

21.Mai 2003 Mittwoch 9.49 Uhr