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fellowshippers2005-12-02 09:18 am
geniusartist.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-12-02 09:18 am
Journal Keeping (1)
Title: Journal Keeping (1)
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: EW/DM
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst. Future parts will cover sensitive issues. Can't help it -- I've been working in the services field forever and have been affected much by people I've met and come across.
Summary: Elijah's therapist instructs him to keep a journal. Nightmares, train rides, a forgotten traumatic event and one Dominic Monaghan are the subjects of his entries.
8.26.04
Am I supposed to introduce myself first?
Ok, hi. I’m Elijah.
Are you there G... no, no. This is not a Judy Blume novel and I’m not a blossoming teenage girl. But I may someday write about masturabation. A lot even.
The therapist prescribed at least 30 minutes per day. Stream of consciousness, she said. Don’t edit yourself. Just write. Think. Or better yet, feel. 30 minutes?? What am I going to write about for 30 minutes?? Anything, she said. Well, can we work up to that. Start with maybe 15 and at some point graduate to 30. She was quiet for a short while. Ok, then. Finally. I’ll compromise with you.
Check clock. About 5 minutes have passed and I have 10 to go.
Um.
If I write that for the next 10 minutes, will it count?
Um.
Ok, no I won’t do that.
Of course I know what she wants me to write about. That thing that happened. Those things that happened. Whatever... We talk about it so goddamn much already. Now I have to spend another 30 minutes a day writing about it??? Why do I keep having to revisit this issue. These issues.
Alright, so I swallowed a bottle of codeine boosted pills. I just needed a little extra sleep. It’s not like I was trying to actually hurt myself. Not really.
Alright, 5 minutes left! Woo-hoo!
Dom came by today. He dropped off a sweater he borrowed a few months ago. Or took from my closet, rather. He’s not around so much since LOST. He was just itchin’, I remember, itchin’ for something, anything to take his mind of clockwatching and time-stamping. Like I’m doing right now.
Are all minutes equal in measure? All seconds? Do I live more when I’m doing than when I’m not? And who’s counting anyway?
Mom wanted me to move back home. Just temporarily she said. I declined and felt really fuckin’ guilty about it. But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? At least according to June. And I. Middle child band-aid syndrome.
I just wanted a little sleep. That’s all. Didn’t think it would get me into all this trouble.
Alright, time’s up.
Thank goodness.
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: EW/DM
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst. Future parts will cover sensitive issues. Can't help it -- I've been working in the services field forever and have been affected much by people I've met and come across.
Summary: Elijah's therapist instructs him to keep a journal. Nightmares, train rides, a forgotten traumatic event and one Dominic Monaghan are the subjects of his entries.
8.26.04
Am I supposed to introduce myself first?
Ok, hi. I’m Elijah.
Are you there G... no, no. This is not a Judy Blume novel and I’m not a blossoming teenage girl. But I may someday write about masturabation. A lot even.
The therapist prescribed at least 30 minutes per day. Stream of consciousness, she said. Don’t edit yourself. Just write. Think. Or better yet, feel. 30 minutes?? What am I going to write about for 30 minutes?? Anything, she said. Well, can we work up to that. Start with maybe 15 and at some point graduate to 30. She was quiet for a short while. Ok, then. Finally. I’ll compromise with you.
Check clock. About 5 minutes have passed and I have 10 to go.
Um.
If I write that for the next 10 minutes, will it count?
Um.
Ok, no I won’t do that.
Of course I know what she wants me to write about. That thing that happened. Those things that happened. Whatever... We talk about it so goddamn much already. Now I have to spend another 30 minutes a day writing about it??? Why do I keep having to revisit this issue. These issues.
Alright, so I swallowed a bottle of codeine boosted pills. I just needed a little extra sleep. It’s not like I was trying to actually hurt myself. Not really.
Alright, 5 minutes left! Woo-hoo!
Dom came by today. He dropped off a sweater he borrowed a few months ago. Or took from my closet, rather. He’s not around so much since LOST. He was just itchin’, I remember, itchin’ for something, anything to take his mind of clockwatching and time-stamping. Like I’m doing right now.
Are all minutes equal in measure? All seconds? Do I live more when I’m doing than when I’m not? And who’s counting anyway?
Mom wanted me to move back home. Just temporarily she said. I declined and felt really fuckin’ guilty about it. But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? At least according to June. And I. Middle child band-aid syndrome.
I just wanted a little sleep. That’s all. Didn’t think it would get me into all this trouble.
Alright, time’s up.
Thank goodness.
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That made my day.
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Wondered where you'd gone to.
Welcome back.