let lemons be angry

Every Thursday night, I come home and write. I don't write any other day, because I never have anything to say until Thursday night. Only Thursday nights make me want to scream into pillows and slap pillars on my way home. Silence kills me, I want to scream to snuff all the silence out.

Thursday nights are the end of the week for me. The weekend will be packed with work, and so will Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. But I rest on Thursday nights. This week has been double the intensity of last week; I can't even remember what i was suffering from last week. I balanced school work, freelance work, church work, and crusade work within these four days, running on adrenaline and the little brights of each day.

So. I made it to Thursday. I can't believe I did it. There was supposed to be some sort of celebration tonight, because I'm still alive, and because I'm earning my keep. I'm relieved and tired, but most of all wishing I'd be let down a little so my feet can touch the ground. I don't know which way to run.