I feel like I'm floating right now.
Not in the way that you feel so elated that you're floating, but in the sense that I don't know what way is up.
Barnes and Noble has yet to give me an answer. God even knows about the letter, but I said I expected nothing, and so I will hold myself to my word. I will expect nothing to come of it.
Meanwhile, I don't know how I'm moving my bed and table and dresser into my house, I don't know when I'm getting the key, I don't know if Pita Pit will take me, I don't know if Barnes and Noble will ever call me back, I don't know anything at all and I'm tired of not knowing and I'm tired of this stress on my heart and I'm tired because I only got 5 hours of sleep last night and I'm tired of thinking of these things and I want to just retreat back to my book.
But my book is almost done.
I just want a job. Not just for the money, but to take my mind off of the things that are stressing me out in life.
My problems are so small and I don't feel like an individual at all. I'm so mediocre.
The other day I was on aim on my desktop computer and I saw the screen name of my deceased best friend from 8th grade sign on. I talked to it a little bit, asking who owned the name now, only for a response from his mother.
This seems like a very small event. It freaked me out.
It released something in me that I hadn't experienced in a long time. For years. And I cried a lot from it. I talked to Nina and my dad about it, which helped, but I can't help but think every day about him. What happened. What he would look like if he were my age. What he'd be like. At this point, he's living an imaginary life in my head, which probably isn't the most healthy thing. I only think of these things when I am lying in bed and the room is dark enough that nothing can distract my mind from wandering.
And right after it's done wandering around his could-be life, it circles around (that wily animal-- it must be feline) and always halts and bares the teeth of reality; the memory of his funeral.
How his body was like a cold shell.
I want my body cremated. I don't need people to feign my life with rouge and lipstick and to clutch and cry over petrified hands.
Memory.
I agree, the past is a grotesque animal-- when it begins to prey on you.
House of Leaves is very good, but very depressing.
4 comments:
It will all work out. We will make lots of money... and then spend most of it on tea from the last drop. it is the circle of life.
Never? Holy shit. I've already been to like... 4. That amazes me you've never been to at least one.
It changes you.
Okay, logo.
It's not quite the same, I know, but I do the exact same thing with my cat. That was pretty recent, but I think about it every day, and I can't sleep because of it. I imagine how she'd look if she was still alive, and I still think about the plans I'd made before, and about the plans I'm making now which included her, like I'll picture myself in grad school or something, and Sydney is still in the picture, sleeping next to my head.
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