![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
honeycomb
Jun. 18th, 2009
Jun. 14th, 2009
11:28 pm - Life
There's a girl who is literally driving me crazy. She makes me anxious, excited, happy, lustful, trepidated, giggly, hopelessly smiley, utterly overwhelmed. I...who knows. It's pretty beautiful, but I'm having a hard time handling all this emotion all at once
aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
It's really, really, really, really, really, really good though.
Jan. 28th, 2009
Oct. 11th, 2008
Aug. 26th, 2008
Mar. 17th, 2008
04:28 am
it is another day (on the savannah? thanks matt). I have been thinking about Nietzsche and culture and gender and politics and literature and religion and identity all day. I went so far as to write down a quote from Nietzsche that floated into my head - "the soul is the prison of the body" (needs context, initial impression suggests something somewhat off that which he actually meant) - on a piece of receipt paper and staple it to the wall of journeys (in the back, where things have been stapled before, I am not some kind of spontaneous wall-stapler). pretty ridiculous I know. my new boss there is a nice woman (girl? she's only 19, oddly, like me, but I feel older, we're both still children in such oddly different ways) but she is fairly vacated of significant thought. I miss sarah silently and deeply; I loved her totally platonically. which is important for me, not veering off on a crazy sexual romantic ordeal every time an interesting girl swims into my life. but I am not mourning, merely lamenting. I still sell my shoes and find pleasure in doing my job well, something that only I regulate. if I wanted I could sit there all day and sell a few shoes, not clean up much, not keep it all going, easily with no reprimand. So there's no pressure, but I like order there, and propriety. ritual and responsibility? perhaps.
I just read Howl for a presentation tomorrow. I suppose I'll read a selection gracefully, intoning the words and crooning them out like seducing a cat out from hiding. beautiful and delicate. speaking of cats, I think I'll go pet mine. I don't quite know why I started this journal entry and I don't know how I had wanted it to go.
'Spose I'm done then. until the mood strikes again.
Dec. 21st, 2007
12:39 pm
warm oatmeal and kittens running rampant
the break is half over and I haven't done a thing
gonna be late for work
I feel good.
Dec. 3rd, 2007
06:11 pm
I just read a book, Cloud Nine by Caryl Churchill, and it was very fast and sloppy and confusing and it whirled me up and made me want to give up on evaluating things and just do them. really it worked very well for be because I feel very wild and open and possible, all things I have been missing. does anyone know how to get past a sleep addiction? I think I have one and it's ruining my life.
otherwise, I suppose things are fine, I'm having the last pepsi in the fridge and I want to mix it with a beer and try that, but there isn't much beer and it's the last pepsi and if it isnt any good that will suck, and if it is any good I still won't finish either and I never finish the drinks I open, is that such a bad thing anyway?
>.
Nov. 1st, 2007
06:44 pm - writer's block
decided to write a novel for nano wrimo, the november write a novel month thing. I really want to do this. I have no idea what to write it about. I dont want to write about myself, because that's not fiction. maybe i should just take some random elements and go with it, like I do when someone asks me to tell them a story. I thought about writing a book about cats. that would be cool. I like motherfucking cats and writing about them would be way too cool. but it might be really fucking cheesy too. I could always write like 10 children's books as well, matt suggested. or I could have a book illustrated by my photographs. that would be fucking cool. my visual art inspiration is far exceeding my writing inspiration at the moment.
who knows. I think I'll figure it out.
need to get out of the house. Hellgate London has eaten around 6 hours of my time today. the remainder encompassed by taking notes on Foucault. he's pretty cool.
in any case. maybe Foucault could make an entrance in this novel. maybe it could be a time traveling adventure with felines and introspection and some gays thrown in. can't live without 'em.
god this is going to be a lot of crap. but I am learning to be totally OK with that.
need to be more active in this life. I am so disgustingly passive it makes me want to wipe myself out.
this was 249 words of journal. I need to write about 1700 words a day to match the 50,000 word quota.
here goes.
Oct. 28th, 2007
Oct. 26th, 2007
05:16 pm - so
the prozac's out of my brain. I have an anger problem that was surreptitiously treated alongside my depression. depression is fairly OK, but I am already having a serious problem with easily provoked anger spikes. coupled with a poor amount of control for what to do with it.
(think: I snapped at my manager really hard core. and I almost spat on a vehicle advertising its ownership by a crazy-christian-conservative)
alongside the absence of the prozac is the return of my sex drive. not necessarily a good thing. I really, really, really, really, really just want to fuck with abandon. with blind visceral glee at cunts in general. this is not good.
maybe I needed that shit after all. or maybe I should just learn to live without it.
FUCK.
I don't know what to do. All of the behaviours I think of to help me cope are stupid. or destructive.
except petting my kitties, or, perhaps, exercising. but I can't really do anything with this anger sitting on my chest and burning, burning, burning all my thoughts away.
zombie walk. maybe I'll have relaxed by then.
could use a massage.
Oct. 25th, 2007
09:39 pm - life
It is good. I am pleased. A new part of me is becoming more pronounced as I get more and more gregarious at Journeys. Selling shoes is making me a more friendly and outgoing person. I'm still an introvert, but at least now I can talk to random people about random shit. Kind of nice.
Otherwise things are going slowly. Class. Work. Puzzles. Kittens. I need more time with my friends. Where are you guys? Sheesh. Call me or something.
Also, the state of affairs regarding Halloween is curious.
good bye.
Oct. 21st, 2007
Oct. 17th, 2007
06:11 am
here is why I cannot write:
I cannot replicate this intense, absurd, world.
And to interpret and limit my tellings of it would be a travesty.
Oct. 11th, 2007
08:30 pm
I beat duriel in diablo today on my amazon. died 4 times, otherwise it was good. I dont know why I play that game so much...it is an escape. it has replaced sleep as an escape lately; I still get an absurdly luxurious amount of sleep, but I dont need it like I used to. yesterday was a great day; so far today has been an OK day. found out that I have a d in my french class because of absences and whatnot...still need to talk to the office of student life about that. dropped a class that was going badly, so now I have only 9 hours. makes me a little anxious. but whatever. my dad brought home a new kitten today, 6 weeks old and blackish brown. it's ridiculously tiny and I wish he hadn't agreed to take it. I want to move out into my own environment, not his with constant radios blaring, doors open, cats eating raw eggs and other bullshit. it's exhausting. but. what can one do. I was realizing today how much my world and the people in it are defined by my own projections, and how horribly deluded that is. is it a fear of the other, a naivete in my expectations, a desire for the world to be like me (narcissism), or what? probably all of the above. anyway, I know it's normal to do, and that everyone does it, but the solidity of it as fact, that things are not actually as I expect and perceive them to be, hit me fairly hard last night/this morning. I found that when I examined my thoughts and was thinking that a prozac wouldnt matter because what's the point anyway? that I should probably take one. a double dose, in fact. I need talk therapy I think, because medication by itself isn't nearly as effective. it just keeps me from nose diving occasionally, keeps me out of that destructive cycle of depression, but it doesnt resolve the depression itself. I was thinking the other night about how I rated my life quite highly in nearly all domains at triota, but that I am still an unhappy person a lot of the time. why? why am I cursed to never be satisfied? I don't mind it logically because it is a pipe dream to wish for "satisfaction" and if I reached total satisfaction, it would be downhill from there. I never want to be at the end point of progress. and I am from a jewish family and all that cultural bullshit. but really, I am a malcontent and that itself gets me down. when Im not already down enough from being not satisfied with whatever part of my life.
*argh* I have been slowly realizing that I am more fucked up than I ever cared to admit. but still, probably more well-adjusted than most of the people around me. I think everyone is really fucked up inside but I'm just not sure. do some people not realize, or not think about it, or are they really just OK? or is it that they are too blind to evaluate their own lives clearly? when I think about people's issues and what creates them, I always come back to parents. parents really fuck you up. is that a necessity, or are most parents just really bad at bringing us up? uncertain. probably the former. there is no right choice in life, only a host of bad ones that range from mediocre to really fucked up. I would say that no choice is necessarily a bad choice either, but some are. those that involve hurting other people. anyway, fuck this shit. the world overwhelms me because I can find no objective truth about people in it. I feel trapped by all the equally valid interpretations and cannot embrace one. I cannot embrace my interpretations because I am always questioning what I think and experience. how's that for insecurity. but I've had deeper problems with questioning my own reality before. maybe that's just the specific brand of rot at the center of my mind.
Oct. 5th, 2007
03:52 pm
the destruction site near my house is a deadly, beautiful piece of installation art.
I gaze at it every day. Photos may be in order.
I can never write anything I'm actually thinking or feeling in here anymore (to share that is) because it is either about negative feelings I don't want to share, or positive feelings I know I can't.
shucks, huh.
my wisdom teeth are coming in...
ripping through my gums.
ready to be blonde again. help?
the weekend is a too short, too often panacea for the week. I would go to class another 4 days to have a 3 or 4 day weekend once in a while.
Sep. 30th, 2007
08:52 pm
I feel sick and depressed and anxious, my anxiety consumes me when I get stressed out, I dont want to be with anyone or do anything because it all just makes me feel trapped and...anxious.It started getting bad last night and then I came home and couldnt sleep. probably giving myself some acid reflux. yippee. finally slept at 5:30 because I just forced myself to, laid down and was joined by the kitty. she is sweet but I just felt so dead. like eating when you're not hungry, and you don't enjoy it. that was going to sleep. awoke at 11:30 to my dad standing in my open doorway staring down at the blanket that enveloped me. I have been sleeping in little burrows hiding away from myself and the world. no light sound nothing. somehow I knew his presence and woke up, looked up. bad way to start my day; my father has been driving me fucking nuts lately. wayyyy more than usual. so that's that. got my shit together, drove to see matt. got to stay there for 3 hours because the fucking Valley is nonsensical and apathetic and a total fucking joke. I miss mattie a lot. codependence is only cool when these separations don't occur. argh, fuck it all, I could just sit here all day every day and lose track of all time. I could sit here...and not have the enrgy to go to my classes tomorrow. honestly. just sit in this chair and do absolutely nothing but listen to ambient music and try not to totally lose it. I touch my hair a lot when I am stressed,. that's all.I havebeen wearing a lot of gray lately because my sweats aregray and my jackets are gray and my pants are gray and my shorts are gray and my boxers are gray and I am gray. I need some wine and some smoke. or something. anything at this point to relax me because I dont have medication for this shit. prozac double dose is doing nothing to keep up with my head. been reading camus and the fucking prose is mind blowing. it destroys me though, destroys me with my own feelings and my own ideas. destroys me with the bleakness of truth. ah well. and I just realized that that shit is translated. well, I guess I need to study more french.
paper due tomorrow and I still dont have the sheet that concerns it. montgomery had better understand.
tomorrow. a monday. ease my problems and give me new ones.
here are some quotes from A Happy Death. I carry it with my in my purse. a depressive's security blanket of nihilism.
Mersault thought about dinner. His neck ached a little from leaning so long on the back of his chair. He went downstairs to buy bread and macaroni, made his dinner and ate it. Then he returned to his balcony. People were coming out again, the air had cooled. He shivered, closed his windows, and walked over to the mirror above the fireplace. Except for certain evenings when Marthe came or when he went out with her, and except for his correspondence with the girls in Tunis, his entire life lay in the yellowed image the mirror offered of a room where the filthy oil lamp stood among the bread crusts. "Another Sunday shot," Mersault said.
All the water like some thick oil on the panes, the faint hollow noise of the horse's hoofs - more audible now than the cart's uproar - the persistent hiss of the rain, this basket case beside the fire, and the silence of the room - everything seemed to have happened before, a dim melancholy past that flooded Mersault's heart the way the rain had soaked his shoes and the wind had pierced the thin material of his trousers.
...discovering then that it would be enough for him to date his letter and pull the trigger, discovering the absurd feasibility of death...
later
Sep. 29th, 2007
02:56 pm
Pinback (the band) is so sad. Their new album is OK but not as good and simple and mournful as the last 2. I am so tired and cold. I started reading Albert Camus's The Happy Death last night after I recommended Camus to Jordan at the Pita Pit. Realized I had only read The Stranger and that was wrong..the only other fiction I had was this one. Myth of Sisyphus is more of a philosophy tract and Resistance, Rebellion, and Death is a collection of political essays. So. the Happy Death, what a title. I like it because it harks back to the platonic understanding of the world happy. at least that's the impression I got by reading the back of the book and understanding what it was all about.
mattie says Valley Health Care Systems' crisis unit is like a redneck Big Brother. a perfect approximation.
Going to go read more. played Diablo because I didnt feel like I would be running this time. last night I felt differently.
need to take prozac. feel apathetic.
make a cd for mattie.
bye.
Sep. 23rd, 2007
Navigate: (Previous 20 Entries)