I am back.
Some of us have seen it coming. We couldn't do anything about it. There was no other way.
I'm back. I'm here again. I have been brought back by the little voices in my head.
They tell me: YOU REALLY SHOULD... < please fill in one of below >
- give up the job
- pursue another, more artistic carrier
- smoke less
- drink less
- worry less
- spend less
- pay off the credit card
- earn more
- kill your boss
- write a book
- other (please elaborate)
The voices have also told me that I'm going to Madrid, sailing, mad, none of above, all of above, some of above.
My friend tells me that I'm going to be a great writer one day.
My boyfriend tells me that I'm going to be rich and famous by the age of 25.
Myself tells me that I'm going to be very confused very very soon and if I don't go to sleep just about now I will be late for the bus again and I will have to run to work and I won't have enough time to grab an Insomnia tall latte that I'm addicted to and I will be very sleepy whole day and two euro and eighty cents richer. There may be other consequences, too, but my brain has died and I can't see further than 11am in the morning tomorrow.
"Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand. "
Voices tell me I should go to sleep.