tomorrow i head north, beginning a three and a half day process that will eventually lead me to montreal. my suitcase is packed and sitting next to the front door, just waiting for me.
i am afraid to go outside tonight. i dont think i could stand how beautiful it would be. and beauty can be the most depressing thing in the world.
sometimes, i feel like im just floating.
why is everyone celebrating?
the thoughts in my head - they shouldnt be there. and the memories i have - i shouldnt have them. the things that i feel - they arent the right feelings for the holidays. sometimes i think my life is irrevocably corrupted. maybe it is. maybe i can never feel the peace of redemption.
but i know now, as i didnt before, that it doesnt matter.
the things that i do now are generally decent things to do. the motives for doing those things are far more questionable. maybe nothing i do in this life will ever be perfect or pure.
that doesnt matter either.
whatever my thoughts, memories, feelings, motives... it doesnt matter. the only person those things affect is me. it is action that affects others. and above anything else, it is actions we can control. above anything else, i want to affect others in a positive way.
if i move in with a 92 year old woman out of the motive of free rent and end up helping her by moving in... what does it matter why i moved in?
it doesnt.
in other news... im still in love.
there is a song called "misery is a butterfly" but i think thats a lie. i think happiness is a butterfly.
today is beautiful. i want to feel this forever.
on telelvision, a twelve year old boy is stabbing a radiology patient.
i am the tree in the foreground of the picture in the heading of this page. you are the bench. or the trees in the background. or the footprints through the snow.
it is 1:56am. it could be any time of night or day as far as the artificial lights in the ceiling go. and the hallway leading to the door of my room gets more confining every day.
i dont feel like ive felt much of anything in a while. except disappointment and frustration and love and lust and generosity and selfishness and satisfaction and pity and adoration. and a million more. i spend nearly all of my time in bed, limp, propped up by pillows, computer in my lap. i hardly study. i go to the library and tell myself its fine to lean back in the chair and close my eyes just for a second. or for ten minutes. or for an hour. its fine to pick up the bookbag that you never even opened, and to leave the library, and to catch a bus home because the ten minute walk would be too much effort. well, it is fine. except that at night i lay here propped up on my pillows and try not to think. i try to smile, because things are going well and people are all right and everyone is friendly and the semester is ending. but i dont. i dont smile. and then that dreaded moment comes when i cant resist picking up the bible that i leave on the windowsill next to my bed. that moment is the worst of every day.
maybe when earth hugs you its not really a hug. maybe shes just grabbing hold of you before she tosses you out into the irrationality of space.
why must we divide life into day and night when the substance is the same
skin that smells like lavender and hair that smells like green tea. people are moving in the bathroom. i hear drawers open and close and get the crazy idea that if they stay open, my eyes might stay open too. my head is a melt of cutting videos in the basement, peter godber running from hong kong, whale sex. my body is a melt of lotion and scent and comforters. im completely alone in the room, and i feel like Earth is hugging me. i dont know how to hug it back so i just go limp and smile. i smile and imagine an armadillo dancing with a skunk in the reading room of the undergraduate library...
i mean, i guess sometimes you just feel
good.
minute self reflection
i cry when i get frustrated. i drool all over the place. i cannot for the life of me keep my shoelaces tied.
i snuggle my stuffed pig to sleep. i take naps at least 3 days a week. i play with my food and mix it into disgusting creations.
i correct simons spelling online. i despise people i dont know. god help me, i absolutely cannot ask a professor for one on one assistance without tears in my eyes.
in retrospect, i am not at all surprised that i was so disgusted with myself for so long.
but as for the present, i am not at all surprised that i amuse the hell out of myself.
