cranky day.

today is cranky day.
today, i rebel and i refuse.
today, i don't want to do things the way i know i ought to.

fuck doing something new. fuck taking action. i have a friend who insists that action is greater than inaction. but i'll tell you right now that taking action SUCKS. inaction is easier. inaction means you don't get hurt as quickly.
taking action, well - it hurts sometimes. and you feel like an ass sometimes. and then you wanna sit in a corner with your stash of guilty-pleasure snacks and/or a nice bottle of something and not move til everyone around you has forgotten that you even existed in the first place, never mind forgetting what you did.
and there's no one you can apologise to, because really you're the only one that hurts and you did it to yourself anyhow, and then when you're curled up in the corner you say things to to yourself like, well, i guess i'm just a fucking idiot, why the fuck did i do that, that was so dumb, stupid, stupid, stupid, now don't ever do anything that retarded ever again, no, actually, NEVER do anything again EVER.
and then you feel like crap.
and the next time you throw inaction out the window, and oh, look! it backfired on you AGAIN! well, now you're just all kinds of idiot for not listening to yourself when you said not to do anything again ever. serves you right, dumb-butt, why the hell didn't you listen to your own advice, why the fuck would you do a thing like that when you knew what happened last time.
inaction is so much easier. inaction means you don't impale yourself on a stupid decision and end up bleeding all over the place.
doing something. bah.

maybe tomorrow i'll be back to my normal masochistic impale-myself-on-my-own-decisions self.
today, i don't wanna.



i see thunderclouds scudding by
past the lonely hills, grey and muffled
disappearing over the horizon
driven before the gale like cattle

streaks of ice-cold rain chill the air
soaking into the crevasses of the earth
winter-bare branches reach sky-ward
empty nests perched on the highest limbs

the cold cleaves through skin and muscle
i have no respite from the implacable wind
here yet wander i, restless and uncaring
past silent trees and flood-sated streams.

i see the thunderclouds scudding by
past my lonely head, horizon to horizon
my hair grows wet with rain.
umbrellas are for wimps.