Swallow and choke.

I need some time. There's too much smoke over my head, too much to think of, too much to solve, too much to adapt to, all at once, fucking hurricanes all over again.

A mixture of anxiety, guilt, fear, love, passion, doubts and certainties. Lousy, like I usually get whenever I have big goals. Sometimes I think I'm fooling myself, that I'm too lazy to aim as high as I do, I start out with stamina and end up sluggish. I suck at competing, maybe because I start from the premise I'm always worse than everyone else. I can't compete very well, especially when my biggest rival is inside myself, stepping on my toes.

Life never stops, it's like climbing up a ladder that won't stop spinning round, in the dark. Every step up is a big step, has to be carefully examined. If you trip over, you might fall all the way down and die. If you don't fall, you're just one step above, big deal. You never know how far you are from the top, anyway. Sometimes it just seems easier to jump back. But I wouldn't do that.

I need some time for myself, to help myself, instead of kicking myself in the ass for every mistake I've ever made.
The guilty-pleasure-loving catholic in me. Sometimes it sleeps for weeks, months, but whenever it awakes, it swells, makes me sit on the corner with a big dunce hat.

There are regrets, unfortunately, as much as you try to keep going and face mistakes in a positive manner, sometimes the wish for undoing things is haunting. You hate your own guts sometimes. Especially when you keep exposing dear people to the worst side of you.

Maybe I just really need the time. Maybe I really just need her around.