journal 2

at night my feet freeze up like ice. the coldness comes from inside. My hands less so, when I move them close to my chest. there I wait for hours for the physics of tiny molecules vibrating from the almost artificial hiccuping of my heartbeat to conduct thermal energy through lungs then ribs then muscle then fat then skin to my fingertips where my internal blood circulation was not fast enough. Progress is slow. The chill in my feet ends exactly up at the ankle. A useless and arbitrary line was drawn between the tijuana of my heel and the california of my calves. I blame my heart for whatever reason it has for being slow and weak. Is it unmotivated?
Afraid? and what would a heart be afraid of?
I have a hard time knowing that these parts of my body are mine. Most at home is the feeling of being surrounded by water, not knowing where my fingers end and the ocean begins. Then I am the entirety of the earth, a movement in the wave, a small physical purpose who happens to be conscious, my whole body reduces to the cold and sloth of my slow and stupid heart.
As a result my blood pressure is undeniably low, and I have no temper. maybe I do not even love at all.