"Denmark is Still..."

[psalm_onethirtyone]

...My 'people, augh' is starting to kick in worse than usual. I do not want to talk. I just want to hide in my room.

(But I do want to thank everybody who commented on my last post. She was actually very nice about it. Except that she isn't going to have any help that entire month, she let me know, because Karen's getting surgery, so it's just me and her, except it's just her, because I called off augh augh augh augh I am a bad person.)

I do not want to be here. I do not want to-morrow.

...

...I won't get to bed until about two to-night. And I have to be up at seven. Damn. That wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be on top of things to-day.

I just want to go away, by now. And I wish I weren't getting evaluated for the meds after Christmas--I have a feeling that Christmas is going to be a nightmare.

(Why can't I save the world?)

But earlier to-day I was laughing.

My world is not in the order I want, and I had better go and start working on things now, or they won't get done, and I won't sleep at all.

I think--this is where extra guilt comes in, I suppose--I think I would feel better if I disappeared myself for a few days. But I can't. I don't have--and I can't--and I'm always so reproachful of myself for not being able to fix more things. And I'm so tired. But I can't do this any more, I can't just close windows, and I hate running out of time and I wish.

Why can I not make other people laugh?

Because you know what it is? I hate this. This residual sadness, this extra guilt? It's from not being able to help. It's from reading my flist every day and realising that there are so many people I love and I can't make them happy. No matter how much I'd give, no matter how much I pray, no matter how many wishes I make, no matter where, I can't change the world. I can't make things get better. I hate it. I want to make things better. I want my wanting to be enough. I want that I love so much to be enough to change things. I hate that it's not, and what I hate ends up being me, or if it doesn't it turns into scraps of being tired and being sad and not wanting to be, because I feel I'm failing people.

I wish I could fix. I wish I could help.

I love you, and you, and I love her, and I wish that I could do some thing. Sending letters isn't enough, saying I love you isn't enough, it doesn't change things.

I want to change things.

And I want to change bigger things. It hurts so much reading the newspaper that I've stopped. I've stopped reading Newsweek. I just feel worthless afterwards. I need a job so I have money to donate--there's my logic for the year. I have resolutions that are no good. I want to do something.

And wanting isn't enough. It's never enough. I don't want hard enough.

I have mushroom wishes and Helgafell wishes and stained-glass wishes and nativity creche wishes and I've wished more places than I can remember and I've tied my prayers up in brown paper and blue ribbon, and I've followed rules to make wishes, and I suppose I know well enough that my wishes aren't any good--

...now I want to sleep.

Now I need to do the things I need to do.