And that's what weekends are made up of
I have often wondered why weekends are so disturbing. I think it’s all the accumulated anxiety, stress, fear and pain which melt and blend together to become creeping and slithering restlessness. I still remember the nights when I laid in my bed listening to my music and felt my heart get heavier and my breathing get difficult. I also remember that a lot of those nights were preceded by evenings of writing pages and pages of ink and tears, describing what still remain inexplicable after many many years. I am so amazed at and almost jealous of this restless heavy heart feeling. It has managed to stay pretty damn stable. It sits on my soul as a rock. I have always tried to blame it on things, people, events but have known for a while now that it’s me and not anything else. Not to say that all those things are not somehow related to or haven’t contributed to the sea of worries that I choose to drown myself into. Every time I feel it can’t get worse, it kicks me in the rear and shows me