xeryfyn's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Trying to do things right As I struggle out of bed, I feel 98 and half bent over in agony. How will I ever walk normally again? I feel like my insides are going to fall out! When I am not sitting or lying down, I feel too weak to hold the bay. I hope this is only temporary! My Julia has taken to crying a lot. mom says that it is because she is not getting enough to eat. -------- Late at night, in my private (hurrah!) room, I call the nurse--after nursing her for three hours, she is still fussing. The nurse convinces me to top her up with formula. I feel like a bad mother who can not provide enough for her little girl. I settle into an uneasy sleep as they take her so I can get some rest. She sleeps soundly after getting only 10 mL of formula. Perhaps she really was hungry. I hope i am doing ok by her anyway. Ohh feelings of inadequacy. On the upside, it is getting easier to move around. And where it used to take me an hour and a half to use the washroom, it now only take 45 minutes! Progress is measured in baby steps :P 12:53 a.m. - 6/22/2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ugh I have been re-reading my entries here and find myself quite disgusted and dissatisfied with the way it has deteriorated. Some people hold themselves up to the scrutiny of the light of day or the shimmer of night and find pleasure and pain in recounting the daily trivias of life. The wandering wayfaring roads that lead us time and time again, in circular progressions ever spiralling towards eternity- a sad and farcical danse macabre. I, too, have joined in this dance and have become tired, sitting out the ballads and romantic interludes in favour of thrashing to the angst driven dementia of hard rocking raucous noise. I dont enjoy seeing the quality of my writing anymore, and take little pleasure in the silly rambling that fills these pages. Sure, they tell of the petty anxieties and small nuances that have shifted and altered the sands that pass through my hourglass, but I cannot say for certain that they have done an ounce of good. I used to be very careful about how I wrote, what I wrote about and the words that tumbled from the fingered keys before me...I used to cherish the rhythmical and eloquent beat that brought forth hitherto unknown thoughts and feelings, making them palpable and real. Well, as real as cyberspace can get, I suppose. I used to write for me. Now, I am not sure. Somehow there is always the niggling expectation of audience. I find myself addressing them, as I am doing now, and am peturbed by this shift in focus. Since when did I start caring what other people thought of my writing? I suppose I shall never be able to render myself a solitary writer while indulging my voyeuristic interests here on OD. This community has taught me much and I do not wish to leave. I only wish that I can recapture the tone of my OD as it was when it began. Yes, it will take time. Yes, it will take effort. Yes, I CAN do it. Yes, I WILL do it... If only to prove to myself that what I dream of as talent may really come to pass. 12:24 a.m. - 5/13/2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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