Blank walls

Blank. Completely blank and worthless. None of this makes sense. None of it is meant to. Why bother?

My hand keeps reaching for the phone. Dial. Dial. Just make the call.
I can't!
I feel so silly. There is no need. No reason to call. Others need it more- have real issues going on. Nothing petty.

Ugh. My stomach feels so weird.
My mind is so congested- so heavy.

Alright.. I will call.
Nope. I will just get laughed at.

Forget it.




Jump seven hours later....

Here I am, once more, staring at the scribbled name and phone number in front of me. Not gonna do it. I know I'm not going to call. To talk to someone would be a complete waste of time. Theirs and mine. Anything I say is complete jibberish. Anything I feel is absolutely normal to any other human being. So, I just need to suck it up, put on my big girl pants (as always) and deal with life.
Head on.
Like a terrible car accident.

Hmm... Bill.
Billy.
William.
Dr. Billy.
Dr. Bill
Quackpot Bill.


"Hi Doctor Bill. My name is Tracey. I live a dull and boring life. I don't do anything remotely special and I have nothing to offer anyone. So, here I am, making my ass imprint on your overused sofa, which is probably really grimy and dirty from the use of hundreds of people before me who are probably afraid to bathe or haven't washed their clothes in over three weeks, wearing them daily. And I am paying you to listen to me whine like a little baby because I am dissatisfied with myself and would have no problem if my car were to drive into a tree on the way home from here."

Yep. Sounds about right.