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the organ grinder

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Tue Jun 27 06 / 12:59 PM

I haven't been writing lately, and it's because I haven't been thinking. I put on my earphones on the way to and from work, and novocaine my brain to two hours of life without a plan, a boyfriend, a father. Getting through work is its own numbness; ditto watching TV, reading, fucking, partying on weekends. It seems I could live a whole life this way if the numbness weren't a substitute pain. My brain hurts to be frozen, but doesn't want to thaw either.

When I am numb, I can avoid thinking of my father, though I can still sense the thoughts in the periphery: melting down my iced connections, threatening a deluge. Without numbness, my mind is flooded in the perfect, clear, pure sadness of grief. My relationship with Dad was as much as I could make it - and without the distraction of guilt or regret, this makes the loss impossible to bear.

I slept on a cot beside his bed in a private room at the hospital, for only one night of the nine he lay in a coma. And even though we both knew he would die that night because I was with him alone, even though I woke at 3am to see him take his last ever breath, even though I hugged his warm cologned body for half an hour before calling the nurse, I still cannot believe he is gone. Daily life while numb feels like something is nagging my mind that I've forgotten - but if I warm to the reason for that feeling, my mind falls apart like Prometheus and the eagle.

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Comments (2)

Lisa Higgs

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*the organ grinder*
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Tue Jun 27 06 / 12:59 PM I haven't been writing lately, and it's because I haven't been thinking. I put on my earphones on the way to and from work, and novocaine my brain to two hours of life without a plan, a boyfriend, a father. Getting through work is its own numbness; ditto watching TV, reading, fucking, partying on weekends. It seems I could live a whole life this way if the numbness weren't a substitute pain. My brain hurts to be frozen, but doesn't want to thaw either. When I am numb, I can avoid thinking of my father, though I can still sense the thoughts in the periphery: melting down my iced connections, threatening a deluge. Without numbness, my mind is flooded in the perfect, clear, pure sadness of grief. My relationship with Dad was as much as I could make it - and without the distraction of guilt or regret, this makes the loss impossible to bear. I slept on a cot beside his bed in a private room at the hospital, for only one night of the nine he lay in a coma. And even though we both knew he would die that night because I was with him alone, even though I woke at 3am to see him take his last ever breath, even though I hugged his warm cologned body for half an hour before calling the nurse, I still cannot believe he is gone. Daily life while numb feels like something is nagging my mind that I've forgotten - but if I warm to the reason for that feeling, my mind falls apart like Prometheus and the eagle.
	</>	Comments (2)
Lisa Higgs
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