examen iv

twelve days it has been and it is always like this. i start and then trail off. when i break a daily routine of writing i can never seem to pick up again because of the lost days. a fixation on chronology that eventually makes me pass by it completely, unable to continue with the baggage of the undocumented, the undone, the failed to do.

"you're 24. you gotta get rid of this thing about failure."

there always just seems to be too much to say. and then life happens, and the seeds of words are lost. and plenty remains in my head, filling up, drowning out reason and good judgement and insight and sharpness.

and so i guess it should come as no surprise that i often feel like i am suddenly realising my surroundings, my circumstances. like joe from fight club. constantly waking up.

tonight in the shower i realised i was crying. i was thinking of my lola. i realised that i am probably going to experience the passing of my grandparents in the next decade, and i realised i cannot imagine it and would not know how to deal with it.

my lola was crying too, just a little bit, frustrated and feeling helpless at her body which seems to be failing her. she too has many words that she cannot seem to say. to my lolo, "please bring me to the hospital for a checkup. i need an injection for my arthritis." are things that bad between them that lola cannot communicate what she needs? would lolo really just lecture her about the diet she hadn't done and the exercise she never got into? my parents are bringing her on tuesday.

somewhere between the grand introspection of my adolescence and these first few years of adulthood, i have forgotten how and why i should write. my mind feels like it's shrinking, like it is losing the capacity to remember new information. like it is being pricked by the veins and the stimuli that come from my eyeballs. to feel that my mind is shrinking must be enough reason to write.