"Garboesque Machinations"

I've lost count how many days I've been inside, but it's over a month, I think. Still not long enough.

I managed to do the laundry, cook, keep the kitchen clean, and take the family on a field trip while Miner was home. Now that he's gone again, I want to settle back into this seat in the bed and grow here.

It's 4:53 AM. I'm exhausted, sleepy, but I can't get comfortable to save my life. Still got stupid Hannah Montana earworms burrowing in my brain, and plenty of self-critical demons yakking in my head, too.  Added to them is my sister's voice chastising me for my "Garboesque machinations."

I told her I'm sorry. I don't have it in me. Can't medicate or communicate. But I'm alive.

Who knows if that will suffice.

Did a paper cutting today that was supposed to function as an "I'm alive but not participating" message. I don't think anyone "got it." I'm sorry for that, but I won't clarify. Can't. That's the reason for the visual. I'm hoarding my voice because -- maybe -- I'm afraid it will run out. Or maybe afraid it won't sound right, and then I'll know for sure something else is living in my mind besides me.