three in the morning productions

lull the darkness

My sincerest apologies to those who have waited eagerly for an update from this end. Haha, yes, my adoring fans. God, I felt horrible this weekend--I was down with a bug and slept most of yesterday. Not counting the brief shining interludes when Mr. Hannings made me laugh quite a bit. I'm not too sure that he ever realized I was somewhat delirius from a fever. I, ahh, have so much I want to say. But at times, diaryland cannot be my refuge for cathartic compulsions. There are simply things I want to hold onto in all their pristine wordlessness. When friends begin to prod and inquire, I laugh and walk away.

Winter madness or pms, call it what you will, I spent the other night tormenting myself over little nothings. And when my sister revealed a secret to me, my problems in comparison to hers were just trivial nonsuches. It was past three a.m. In the dim, tawny shade of the lamp I sat alone to the sound of my pencil scratching furiously against paper. My sister had retired to the other room, but I could still hear as she struggled to hush her tears. And the outpour of emotions that began filling the page was in essence my wish that she hadn't said anything--that she'd kept it to herself. Because she should have known that I would torment myself until I became convinced that I could feel her pain and that I understood it and I cared. We were both very awake, when an hour later I came into her room and laid down beside her, just as I used to do in the days when monsters lurked beneath my bed and my sister's presence was the only thing that could keep them away. She was the first to break the silence by affirming apologetically that my problems were just as important as hers. No, I told her I didn't think so. And we murmured our thoughts into the quiet hours of the morning--not necessarily dwelling on the things that troubled us. Before we drifted off to sleep, she quietly told me that I had a comforting presence. Sometimes.

Perhaps we shall never outgrow the monsters who still lurk in our shadows.

02.02.03 - 3:06 p.m.

	lull the darkness My sincerest apologies to those who have waited eagerly for an update from this end. Haha, yes, my adoring fans. God, I felt horrible this weekend--I was down with a bug and slept most of yesterday. Not counting the brief shining interludes when Mr. Hannings made me laugh quite a bit. I'm not too sure that he ever realized I was somewhat delirius from a fever. I, ahh, have so much I want to say. But at times, diaryland cannot be my refuge for cathartic compulsions. There are simply things I want to hold onto in all their pristine wordlessness. When friends begin to prod and inquire, I laugh and walk away. Winter madness or pms, call it what you will, I spent the other night tormenting myself over little nothings. And when my sister revealed a secret to me, my problems in comparison to hers were just trivial nonsuches. It was past three a.m. In the dim, tawny shade of the lamp I sat alone to the sound of my pencil scratching furiously against paper. My sister had retired to the other room, but I could still hear as she struggled to hush her tears. And the outpour of emotions that began filling the page was in essence my wish that she hadn't said anything--that she'd kept it to herself. Because she should have known that I would torment myself until I became convinced that I could feel her pain and that I understood it and I cared. We were both very awake, when an hour later I came into her room and laid down beside her, just as I used to do in the days when monsters lurked beneath my bed and my sister's presence was the only thing that could keep them away. She was the first to break the silence by affirming apologetically that my problems were just as important as hers. No, I told her I didn't think so. And we murmured our thoughts into the quiet hours of the morning--not necessarily dwelling on the things that troubled us. Before we drifted off to sleep, she quietly told me that I had a comforting presence. Sometimes. Perhaps we shall never outgrow the monsters who still lurk in our shadows. 02.02.03 - 3:06 p.m.