February 25, 2009 at 3:00 pm (RL)
Tags: confession, miles to go before i sleep, moving on, novelling, pain
Much that once was, no longer is. My mind cannot wrap itself around all that I have lost, or perhaps willfully set aside. Most people grow. I seem to have devolved.
Maybe that is just as well. Perhaps it’s easier to fix the flaws on a lower model.
Maybe it’s sour grapes.
I just miss the edgy, vivid ALIVE feeling that used to accompany writing.
February 25, 2009 at 12:27 am (Snippet)
Tags: confession, confused, impermanence, miles to go before i sleep, not quite RL, writing
I’m really uncoordinated today. Worried about the tan shoes, pink tank, brown sweater, black coat, giant black bag. It doesn’t go. This irritates me.
I’ve run out of food in my room, and the wind is somehow cutting through my multicoloured scarf. I’m catching a cold. Hot boy walking next to me is talking, but since he doesn’t have more than two brain cells in his head, it’s easy to tune him out and just look at him. A dimple flashes, and I nod at him. Satified, he natters on. No doubt about the last time he got drunk, or this weekend’s game. Seriously, does no one have stories outside those two?
My career is heading downhill, I can’t seem to hold on. I know nothing, less than nothing, and what I know is probably wrong. Mendel’s laws are overthrown, stupidity is upheld as a virtue, epigenetics and cancer. My horizons are broadening, the land shifts beneath my feet and I am barely keeping my head over the water. Nothing fits right. I’ve hit the dreaded 60kgs.
The world is changing. I want coffee. No one makes chai here, and I just want to return to the womb. But here I am, sharing personal space with a random guy who has nothing but a few genes and a whole lot of harmones going for him, politely pretend-listening, but really cataloguing everything that isn’t the way it ought to be.
Patch of ice. My head was turned towards the hot guy. On the sidewalk, looking up at a flustered, concerned him, ice below.
I don’t think I have the energy to pick me up again.
—
Not quite fiction, but it isn’t all fact either. The boundaries blur.
December 6, 2008 at 9:58 am (RL)
Tags: memories, nostagia, remember
It’s a bit morbid to hold on to the past. I always expect the smell of corpses and filthy clothing to waft past me when I start feeling sorry for myself, or start missing the wrong things or people. That isn’t to say that there haven’t been happy times – that’s what my giant stack of photo albums are for, diving into the happy times.
It when the sadness, guilt, unhappiness and sheer loneliness blindsides you on an otherwise perfectly normal day from a past you thought was buried that you need to start thinking about getting that shovel out and beginning an excavation.
Who knows? It might turn out to be prettier than it seems. And even if it isn’t – well, at least now I know what’s there.
December 5, 2008 at 8:14 am (RL)
Tags: Thanksgiving08
Always and forever, my family. Friends – you know who you are and if you don’t know that it is you, then you ought to know that it is… Nanowrimo. Patience and acceptance where I didn’t expect it.
Genral basic luck from birth – a decent body, a working mind, health, food and shelter.
Bad things happen to people, and I’ve stayed mostly safe.
November 19, 2008 at 8:48 am (RL, Snippet)
Tags: dreams, love, memories, waiting
Every time I dream of him, he gets more and more real. This is the fourth time that I remember that I knew it was him, and now I don’t even know that he’s any different from all the others that populate my imagination.
He’s ruining me for real life, for the run of the mill nice guys, for the assholes.
I’ve always been terrified of seeing his face, because once I did, it would be IT. Ka-splash. Camphor falls. End of story. So why do I feel bad that he doesn’t exist?
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