I don’t Have a Title

I feel hollow. My insides sting and burn, scathed by the hollowing process.

I keep myself busy. I don’t feel hollow when I’m busy. But it’s not just anything that works. It’s my mind that has to be busy; stimulated. I’ve had to take a lot of trains lately and it’s not that easy to keep your mind stimulated on a train. I’ve got a book and a movie and pistachios, but my mind is rejecting them now.

So I’m on a train feeling hollow. Hollow is not the same as void. Void brings apathy. Hollow brings sadness. I feel a deep gut wrenching and desperate sadness. And with it comes the realization that I am mere seconds away from a loud and wet weeping episode aboard a train surrounded by strangers.

That thought actually makes me chuckle, because at this point who cares? I try to focus on my movie. I’m watching Storks! I’m almost at the end. Happy ending! And the happy ending includes a scene that barely lasts a second on screen of two very happy women hugging each other and their new baby.

Now I’m sobbing in my seat while storks fly around delivering babies to happy couples on my screen. At least I’m not weeping. At least I’m being quiet. I laugh at myself again.

If I can still laugh at myself, I guess I’ll be ok.