stream of semi-consciousness

is a drunken email less offensive than a drunken phone call? what if it’s not drunken, exactly, but medicated — fever and cold medicine making the head swim? thoughts swimming like fish, darting in and out of the light, like quicksilver, here and gone.

no — i can hear you think — it’s inappropriate, don’t right me this, don’t write me this.

forgive me… forget me… goodbye goodbye.

it hit me fast, this cold. at work, trying to work, not wanting to work, just a vaguely sore throat, so mild, and my mind slowing, not knowing why yet. but so much to do and needing to do so much. poems forming in my head at lunchtime, you coould read them later even though you won’t. still working, anyway, despite the flotsam. not feeling very bad at all, it’s very mild indeed, no real symptoms, mostly tired and a bit muddle-headed, but then suddenly i knew i had a fever when it came over me — trying to work, so much to do — and this fast rush of heat coming over me…

no, stop, wait, i can’t say it… you’re with someone — i was sure, i felt it — or maybe i can’t trust the connection anymore. maybe it’s too broken to know for sure.

oh god, i’m sorry, it’s not like your silence wasn’t clear enough — please please don’t read this anymore, delete it now and it never was.

or stay here with me, but only if if what comes next is OK, is forgivable, is recoverable

the heat, the want, comes over me with the fever. i’m working, so much to do — but in my head is something else. please, please, you aren’t supposed to be here now. how are you doing that, no it’s not you but me… the cold, the heat in my head makes the mind respond slowly, trapped underwater, leaving my body alone to daydream, unattended, real alert alive to things that aren’t real at all —

lips and hands, hunger and heat, mmm, salt and scent, yes, pressed warm, hot, against me — please — in me, oh god, pleasure poured into me, all that matters, yes more again, and then mine given back in return, oh…

wait, no. stop it. focus. work. must work. if he were here now — i think without thinking, body still ahead of the rest — just this, just this, it would be enough. so much for “sweet lady” … so unlike me — not really, this is part of me too — what am i thinking? stop it, it isn’t real. i know, i know, betrayed mind and ruined heart, just this, just this, it wouldn’t be enough, not really. it must be wrong to want so much, it would be wrong to accept so little. it must be the fever. shake it off, do the work at hand. if he were here now — more lucid now, mind slowly catching up — it would never be. but tempting, of course. he — you — always so tempting.

silly girl, heart mind and body, it all comes together or not at all, not supposed to think about such things any more… there is a higher kind of love, greater than this small piece. it’s just the fever confusing things. friends, yes, that’s where we are going… someday, everything except this small piece so inconsequential beside the goodness of all the rest. really. really. reallly.

it doesn’t matter, it isn’t real, just waking dreams and fever, let it go, let it pass, do the work.

what am i doing, why am i writing this? i’m just sick, it’s just a fever, soon i will sleep it off and wake up rested and lucid and myself again. i’ll forget, we’ll forget. i’ll click cancel and i’ll forget, you’ll never know. it’s better that way.

just get through the day, underwater, stave it off, fight it and it fades, it’s just the fever, it must be. coming home, feeling worse, not just mind but body affected, i start to wilt, so tired, and that seems to kill it. good. feeling awful but it’s so good to be thinking better, more clear, more sense. make dinner, take medicine, go to bed. maybe it will be better tomorrow. will sanity return or will the wanting? leave it be. feel weak, lie down, rest, oh yes, that’s nice.

as the medicine makes me float, feeling better, it creeps back. it’s an illusion, try to ignore it. if it won’t be ignored then try to still it. try to let sleep come, the meds should make me sleep, but no, my thoughts race in this stream of consciousness, i’m up again, i can’t be still. stop thinking so fast, so loudly. if he had called tonight, stop thinking that, of course he wouldn’t, that’s all done now and you know that, but if he had called i might have said things that i shouldn’t. good thing, then, that it’s all behind us now.

how he’d laugh. that would be the worst. or maybe. maybe that would be the best — he has a great laugh and laughter is good for the soul and it would be the last one thing i can do for him when really i can’t do anything for him at all.

then let’s laugh and laugh, how silly i am.

except for the fever i feel fine, i’m drunk on cold medicine, i’m going to bed, wish you were here, umm, how are you?

will you ever speak to me again after this? god, i’ll be so sorry.

forgive me, forget me, goodbye goodbye

Copyright © 2006

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~ by lorakceel on April 10, 2010.

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