The woman with razor blade for eyes… I don’t know who she is; but I feel that I’m in love with her. For months I’ve seen her in the distance watching; sometimes she passes by and says nothing. She says nothing but her scent of expensive perfume and pheromones linger to remind me that she indeed is real.
She scares me as much as she arouses me. Why has she followed me for months, making it very apparent that she is disecting me with her eyes? I should have mentioned her to Tim. I know he’ll generically think she’s a figment of my allready fragmented mind; but I know she’s real. I feel her. When I sleep, when time stands still, when I watch the tears from my eyes drop onto my desk for no apparent reason… She’s fucking there.
Every time she’s within my grasp, my ability to speak is always crushed; and that’s when I see her smile and squint her devilish eyes. But then I face reality. I have a keeper of my time which is defined as the present and possible future at home. A keeper who most likely is flexing her remote control choke hold against my throat to stop me from venturing too far away from the farm. It’s been too many days, months, years that I’ve been orbiting that satellite. Long enough that it’s apparent that separation of our elliptical paths will resolve in the destruction of our both worlds. My mind attempts to draft up a chaos theory that will result in both my exoneration of my prison orbit, and return to the time that really is my present.
Maybe this predator in the shadows is my liberator, or maybe it’s my impending demise. I don’t know, just like with everything else that’s the randomizing jigsaw puzzle which is my life. I should take that vacation time that I have coming to me; lie and say it’s a business trip. I have to do something. Anything to give me some freedom and peace of mind to find out what the hell is really going on.
I’ll take my vacation, and I’ll write less. I’ll write again when I come back with answers for you, and myself.
Goodbye.