Home > Uncategorized, writing life > eeyore’s gloomy place: rather boggy and sad

eeyore’s gloomy place: rather boggy and sad

The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?” and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about.
A. A. Milne
Winnie the Pooh

Words are starting to come out wrong.
The doc said there would be side affects.
Usually it’s when I’m trying to be polite, the rush of words escape and I can feel my tone lilting into a question at the end of sentences.
Like I’m unsure of what it is that I’m saying. Am I sure? OF COURSE I AM. I didn’t mean to write that in capitals, but I’ll keep it there for Freud’s sake.
So the doctor says I have to write everyday.
Not just prose and syntax and grammar.
I have to write about how I feel and why I feel it.
So tonight I’ll share it.
I know it’s because I couldn’t explain why I was so angry the other night. My love sat patiently in the way that he does tried to make sense of it. I really admire him for that. My doc nods like a real person and says it’s a step forwards. He seems so confident about this, I can’t tell him what I used to be like. I know it’s not a step forward. It’s a stumble sideways.
But the medication seems to be working.
Well that’s what he says. He has more prescriptions for the parts that don’t work and I take them because suddenly I feel tired of fighting. I feel so tired I could just fall down and go to sleep under his table. I used to love doing that as a kid. It felt so safe, like a little fort. When I walk home I ask a lady where the post office is and she smiles so kindly when she explains that I don’t have the heart to correct myself and tell her I meant to say chemist.
Where’s the chemist?
I remember when I used to be embarrassed buying things from the chemist. I knew they would be grossed out and thinking what a loser as I walked away with ointments or tablets. Now I just lay the prescriptions on the table and nod as they talk about how careful to be. I nod and smile and try not to speak because I can’t be sure anymore how the words will come out.

But I think about it. And like poor old Eeyore, sometimes I just don’t know what it is I’m thinking about.

Categories: Uncategorized, writing life Tags:
  1. December 18, 2009 at 2:32 am

    I appreciate this piece deeply as a Writer. It left me thinking about how content I often feel with my own thoughts and words, and how releasing them to question or attempting to control their direction poses a true challenge – because quite often I can’t place what I’m thinking about either. Perfectly stated yt…

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