I am Prufrock

Three years of hormonal swings, occasional depression, misanthropy and my body’s break down…

I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all

I’m on the other side and I don’t know who or what I am. Still mom. The relationship didn’t survive, so scratch girlfriend – single lady I guess. Professor. Artist. In the room they come and go talking of Michaelangelo.

And…

This is what is. Go through the motions of the day to day. Measure the day from coffee in the morning to a glass of wine, with tasks in-between. Such luxury to be able to ask, “Who do you want to be?”

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;         30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

Thankful that I can walk and breathe and think. None of which was certain on some days.

Is it enough to go home at the end of the day, and be by myself? I have heard the mermaids singing each to each, I do not think they will sing to me.

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