Schizophrenia

(Morning...)
Well...A stormy weather is just what I need. Shame it didn't rain last night, only thunders, for the joy of all those idiots. Nevermind, we've survived.
I had a most boring day at work yesterday, but boredom is good: I emptied my mind and wrote. The story is set and even the ideas are lined up ready to be described. I keep thinking of Virginia and of the wonderful words she wrote: she had the time, of course. If I were rich and had all that spare time I would spend my day writing, no doubt. However, a few evening hours must do.
(Sometime later this afternoon...)
So what is this anger? This frustration, grown silently in me.
I snap, I get all red, I shake; I cannot keep calm and my thoughts become a blurry sequence of untranslatable words and images. Meditation? I swear I've tried...well...not enough, obviously! I feel stupid when I do yoga, I mean when I do it with all the new age thinking beyond and not for the sake of it. I mean, I thought I would do it just to improve my flexibility, to stretch and relax, to change from the everyday routine of work-run-sleep. But meditation is an important side of the practice, and I simply feel stupid.
I guess this is my problem, I am not used to consider my thoughts as important anymore: they weighed a lot more when I was sixteen than they do now. Of course I used to be melodramatic and give a lot of importance to single words, and feelings, and everything looked so heavy and...well..important. Now I am superficial, and I refuse to look beyond things, I don't look for the deeper image of what surrounds me, and my feelings are a bundle of confused sensations I cannot even classify.
I am angry, why?
I am tired beyond understanding, I am frustrated and I thought it was because I was a 26 year-old graduated who couldn't find a job, now I have a good, well-paid, permanent job, and I am soon going to have my own house, I AM BUYING IT for God's sake, so if my problem was the lack of stability, well here we are, I can just settle down for the rest of my life, and I even have money to travel now, so I can go to Spain, and Norway, and all the places I've wanted to be, little by little they will all be part of my photo album, and my books will have a decent place to stay instead of being stacked in my wardrobe; and again, I am even going to go back to university and study what I like best, so...
But see, here we go again, facts. No feelings. Only the outer side of my life, and what is life for me, now? Life is made of day after day and week after week, working, eating, working, running, chatting, texting and e-mailing, reading, trying to write, sleeping. A few evenings out, some music played, a dinner, a movie. I cannot be this irritable just because I haven't got enough sleep in these four days. But I am. I hate the whole world, and it's a feeling I have never had when I was younger.
I feel trapped. I keep thinking about alternative lives, and what it would be like to have a house, a job, a life somewhere else, because my heart lies in another country, even though split as it is it also lies here. I do feel like Samwise Gangee, and this is nothing new. It is terrible to always feel as though your life belongs somewhere else, and yet when I am there I miss all that I've left behind and I feel cold and lonely.
But again, more e-mails and paperwork on my desk pulling me away from the essence.
Where's the luminous halo? Somehow I must have lost my sight.