Locked in a Room.

I need to write today; add the 400 words I didn't finish yesterday, and I must push out over 2000 words today. But I couldn't. Or - I should have, because maybe that would have alleviated some of the haze, but here:

Oh God, I can't even write it. I gathered my courage last night and wrote it in my real journal, but I can't even think about it now without wanting to puke my guts out. The moral of this story is "Irene needs to stay away from falling in love and being disappointed to the point of illness." The truth is, "Irene can't imagine living a life without falling in love."

Curse my eternal optimism, my brain's trick of covering bad memories, and the always-looking-ahead mentality that hovers over my soul. Wouldn't you know - it's not even such a bad thing, in terms of how bad things can get. Just a slap to the face is all.

And during small group, I wanted to talk to someone about something, but to who and about what completely flew out of my head. WHY. Well, there are two things. Last night and also this weird thing that's been happening for a long long time now. When someone knows what someone's going to say - completely unconnected, previously unmentioned things - what is that person supposed to think? What about if it happens consistently? Often, even? What then.

I've always had a knack for finishing people's sentences but never to this point, and I don't want to say anything to anyone but keeping it locked inside my mind is driving me crazy. Speaking of which, Oren Lavie has a beautiful, haunting voice.