Stuffy nose and soul.
My ribs still hurt a great deal and I'm starting to wonder if I'm the third Adam. So which new person got created out of my rib while I slept last night? A friend thinks it highly unlikely that I'm the third Adam but there's always room to doubt.
I spend alot of time fantasizing about prisonbreak ideas. Generally all my fantasies involve being bo chup and just living, something that's clearly not my forte. I would elope all over again with the same person except that he doesn't have enough leave and money is tight "when we travel together". Yah, he mentioned going to Melbourne alone.
I'm not going to call a psychiatrist in the hopes that he will fix my problems. Because a trip to a shrink can buy me an air ticket. When I was merely my parents' rebellious daughter, I ran away at every opportunity and it always involved a plane ticket. Why is it that as I get older, I get poorer and more trapped with worry and boredom?
Why am I the way I am and made to feel sorry as such? Afraid to find out what makes me happy because they seem to all cost money and be deemed frivolous, hence unattainable. And my threshold of disappointment has been maxed out.
Maybe that's why my ribs hurt. Because the shards of my quite crushed heart are trapped within the sinewy flesh that confine it.
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