Trapped

Some saturday evenings feel like sunday evenings. 

The same weight on the chest, 

My heart is racing, almost hurting.

I am cold.

I can't focus.

God, my head is spinning.

I need to do something.

knitting, reading, working studying, writing.

Too many things.

I can't do anything.

I feel light headed.

Why does it hurt?

My heart is pounding against my ribs.

Are my hands shaking?

I can't read.

I can't read.

I.

Winter

It snowed heavily and I found myself being a kid again, full of an energy that I did not know I had, fascinated by the snowflakes outside.
It snowed all night and to make sure I'd be able to make it to work on time, I had scheduled my alarm 30 minutes earlier than usual.

It was still dark when I left the Study and I felt like I was the only living human in this world. I walked along the streets, my feet making the only noise to be heard in the night, my breath forming clouds in front of me. The snow covered pavements reflected the light, creating an eerie yet pleasant atmosphere. It was quiet and I was at peace.

Sometimes I get bored

The number of notebooks was astonishing. Shelves were full of them. There were books too, so many books, the covered most of the walls.
He picked one of the notebooks at random. It was covered with her neat handwriting, clearly synthesizing the knowledge she acquired. Her dedication was impressive.
She was organized to a point he had rarely seen. this volume was about her experiments of growing plants. Soil, water, sun, everything was meticulously recorded.
Apart from the books, items were displayed on the shelves, showing how diverse her passions were.
The next notebook was full of grammar exercises of what he recognized as German. Same handwriting. No flourish. He was impressed.

The problem was that dust had settled.
No one had watered the plants for a while.
She had been gone for days.

On the mantlepiece was an altar dedicated to some king of Goddess. A small statue of a woman surrounded by candles and semi precious rocks.

Pain

They all had known that this would be difficult, but she had never envisioned that pain could take so many forms.
They were standing next to the casket. It was closed. He wished it they would have left it open. Gods knew he needed to see her one last time. to say goodbye. to tell her the words that he had never dared let pass his lips.
There was no priest, no officer, no family. They had been the family she had chosen. They were family.
He could not help but feel miserable. he hated himself for it, but there he was, shaking with pain, anger, loneliness. His heart beat hard in his chest as if trying to escape his ribcage. He cursed at himself under his breath, but nothing worked.
The sky was lead grey. The sun had not dared making fun of their pain.
She moved among the crowed and stood next to him, on his left, where she had always had always been.
Chills ran down his spine and he raised his head. His back straightened and something new bloomed. She was there. She. Was. There. He did not need to move. He just knew. She was there. She was there and the fear that had been clawing at him backed away. She would always stand next to him. She had promised so.
He book a deep breath and murmured her name.
The name on the casket. The name of his left hand.

time management

Friday morning: Work
Friday afternoon: Study

Friday evening: Ballet class
Friday Night: Watch TV shows and have nice conversations

Saturday Morning: prep for work

Saturday lunch/afternoon: Lunch with friends (bring work so you can mark papers while socializing) (bring knitting work in case you can't mark papers)

Saturday Evening: Laser Game with another group of friends. Remember, this is not airsoft, no need to lower your gun for safety.

Sunday Morning: prep for work

Sunday afternoon: Cthulhu rpg with yet another group of friends (bring work, just in case.) (the knitting work is too big, take your crochet work)

Sunday evening: Crepes at one of the Rplayer.

Sunday night: Study

Monday Morning: go to work.

I sometimes get this eerie feeling that I am cheating somewhere. That I do things I shouldn't be capable of doing. Can I really allow myself to be a social animal when I have so much work that I dream of it when I sleep? (good thing, it makes it quicker in the morning. I only have to write what I planned in my sleep.)

I tell people "pick the date, I'll just make time for it one way or another" and they nod, trusting my weird magic to work once more?

I tell people that it's only a matter of organisation. or of will power. or of self discipline. But the truth is, I don't know.

I run forward, never daring looking back. A constant flight.

Work - You owe it to your students

Study - To learn is to live

Socialize - Be nice, don't show off, smile and take care of the people you love

Exercise - No pain, no gain

Craft - Materialize what is in your head

and the countless things that need to be done.