A Lot of Nothing

Sometimes I think I tend to set myself up for disappointment, like I want to find something to help me decide one of life's many questions. I find a clue and then I wish I never had. I think a lot of things aren't meant to be seen or read -- life's just supposed to happen, you aren't supposed to know things that happened while you weren't there. You think you want to know, but in reality I know that I don't. Some things are better left unspoken. You just have to take one's word that they're in the right place now, and that's all that matters. I can be understanding only because I know firsthand that things can be taken out of context. That everything happens for a reason, that you can only grow by living life. But I'm tired. I'm tired of dealing with shit (or the pile of crap I dwell on that gets worse the more I think about it), I'm tired of being confused, I'm tired of not knowing. I'm tired of that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, the knot that won't unwind, cheeks wet with tears. I'm too tired to fill in the gaps, to even spell check or re-read these words to see if they make sense. Frankly, I don't care -- I'm supposed to be writing a newsletter that's due tomorrow but instead I'm dwelling on things I can't change. I'm trying to rid my system, flush out the toxic thoughts that just won't leave, that won't allow me peace ... and just when you think the knot's starting to loosen, one glance is all it takes to feel it tighten, to make the insides quiver ...