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Just sayin'.

She had never been there before. It was so... *loud* and _bright_. So much more than her senses could assimilate. Definitely more than she could cope with, let alone enjoy.

Remembering the lengthy weighing up process that she had pushed herself through before the final decision to attend, she was regretting the outcome of that deliberation from the depths of her gut. No good would come of it and she was already starting to succumb to the loss of control and pain.

Many would, on seeing her, not realise the straits that she was in. Some would perceive her discomfort as enjoyment. All she knew was that she had no idea how to end this situation - how to get out of it, to end the ordeal.

Why did she always get herself into such positions? Her inner torment was self-sustaining and self-reinforcing. She had caused herself to be where she was and could blame nobody else for her pain.

At the same time, though, that felt so refreshing - a relief. Usually her pain and suffering was delivered at the hands of another.

© Natalie S. Ford, 2007.

Sadly, I cannot post this to ficlet.com yet because they seem to be broken. See my other journal post.

stilted
sluggish
thoughts and words
which used to flow unchecked
editing impulses ignored
refused
in an attempt to allow the stream to flow
to tumble
over rocks and falls
onward and downward
a memory of a previous
similar
passage of time and ink
similar but so different
more control possible here and now
than before
the stimulus taken in
or tranquiliser to be more accurate
pedantic
is more subtle in modus operandi
and refusable by the imbiber
less a cascade than a permitted descent

I pause on the uphill bridge that spans from sleep to wakefulness, realising that I could more easily return than cross this climb. A mere few hours I have explored on the deeper, cooler side of the chasm but I decide to heed the tug of industriousness and step forward. Opening my eyes my lids conspire to remain closed - such a steep arch of winding stairs this is. If I was to just... but my conciousness has the casting vote and the waking world's tasks, trials and temptations win the debate. I sit up and soon am fully awake.

"It seemed to be such a contentious issue. Her own space. Finally, however, it was becoming reality. Yes, there were still things to do. For one thing, the desk built into the cupboard with more ergonomic shelving than that already built in – so that she did not have to study or work on the dining table, was still an idea in her head with a lack of skils and funds preventing its implementation. The other item that was still a dream requiring finance and JFDI was the adjustable bed to replace the jury-rigged, support-shaped futon.

She had much of her stuff together in the tiny, cozy room, gathered from all over the flat and arranged within reach – she had plans for how the rest would fit.

The advance on her inheritance had long since run out but the retirement flat that the estate owned seemed to have sold and so there might be some funds in the offing.

She had always wanted a space that she could define and arrange. it was already beginning to feel safe and organised – why did organised equate to safe for her? Perhaps because a retreat was so neccessary in the past. Maybe it helped her to think straight and found it easier to remember where things were when they all had their place.

One day it would be complete. The project was underway and the end was in sight."

(This is the first creative writing that I have attempted in many years and is cross posted from http://www.livejournal.com/users/shadesong/2366371.html?view=30390179#t30390179...)

the green starts to work
to relax and help me sleep
to reduce the pain

Insomnia always happens when I get stressed
or depressed
or just sad

There is so much on my plate
on my mind
I need to discover how to wash the plate
how to reclaim myself
some control

This does not mean that I need
or want
to disconnect myself
from the people in my life
to escape completely

That used to be my wish
long ago

Now I know
that I need to go on
I need to be me
I need to know who I am
and where I stand

She glimpses his clear green eyes across the class room. She catches her breath in surprise. This new boy is not what they expected. She sighs and looks on as he gets to know the other boys. Suddenly he looks at her and their eyes meet. She blushes and look down at her open book, unseeing. He could never love her  she is so unimportant!

The next time he looks over he is writing hurriedly. She gazes at his fair hair and eyes, concentrating not on the work she should. The teacher reprimands and she stutters and answer, embarrassed. Her neighbour nudges and passes her a note.

"I love you." Signed, "The new boy."

inertia
so much needs doing
i have control over none of it
at least i made bread