2003-09-20 - 5:30 p.m.
I am emphatically fine to-day.
Except being 1500 words short of an essay, of course (as always).
It's funny... I was thinking about this earlier as I was talking to my lovely friend Alex, my life (head/heart/body/family/future... the whole shebang, if that's a word) has undeniably never been so messed up. And yet I've never been so fine.
I think that it's maybe because I've stopped waiting for the penny to fall or the other shoe to drop or for the floor I thought was definitely rock bottom to turn out to be false and drop me again... empty screams into the air until I find the next bottom with a painful resounding thump.
None of that seems to matter to me anymore; and yet it's still tied into me. Inevitably.
My current theory on this is something about masochistic stability - taking the bad things as something I can at least rely on.
Twisted in everything I think, obviously.
Stuck a feather in her hair
And called it postmodernistic
But today was good. I meant to leave but couldn't bring myself to for a few hours... the sleep-up-uni-essay-sleep pattern I've been subsisting on for the last 9 days has long since grown stale and moldy so I couldn't help but stay in the sunlight, and hang out.
Where do you think the idiom hanging out originated from? I always imagine people hanging precariously off hooks, but then I have crossed wires and seriously mismatched visuals.
Rolling with the homies, for want of a better phrase.
Caught an impromptu mini Th(irsty M)erc gig at HMV. If I'm not careful I'm going to start getting obsessed.
... Too late.
Then food, even though I meant to go home. Then looking at cds, even though I meant to go home. Then Glebe markets, even though I meant to go home.
I'm usually more responsible. But give me an out from responsibilites, or just a temporary away, and I'll be off like a shot.
Speaking of shots, 1500 words left and zillions of minutes of staring blankly at my computer screen - someone please shoot me or bring me some shots of vodka. A drunken essay might at least make for interesting reading.
See you when the next stint of procrastination falls.
Except being 1500 words short of an essay, of course (as always).
It's funny... I was thinking about this earlier as I was talking to my lovely friend Alex, my life (head/heart/body/family/future... the whole shebang, if that's a word) has undeniably never been so messed up. And yet I've never been so fine.
I think that it's maybe because I've stopped waiting for the penny to fall or the other shoe to drop or for the floor I thought was definitely rock bottom to turn out to be false and drop me again... empty screams into the air until I find the next bottom with a painful resounding thump.
None of that seems to matter to me anymore; and yet it's still tied into me. Inevitably.
My current theory on this is something about masochistic stability - taking the bad things as something I can at least rely on.
Twisted in everything I think, obviously.
Stuck a feather in her hair
And called it postmodernistic
But today was good. I meant to leave but couldn't bring myself to for a few hours... the sleep-up-uni-essay-sleep pattern I've been subsisting on for the last 9 days has long since grown stale and moldy so I couldn't help but stay in the sunlight, and hang out.
Where do you think the idiom hanging out originated from? I always imagine people hanging precariously off hooks, but then I have crossed wires and seriously mismatched visuals.
Rolling with the homies, for want of a better phrase.
Caught an impromptu mini Th(irsty M)erc gig at HMV. If I'm not careful I'm going to start getting obsessed.
... Too late.
Then food, even though I meant to go home. Then looking at cds, even though I meant to go home. Then Glebe markets, even though I meant to go home.
I'm usually more responsible. But give me an out from responsibilites, or just a temporary away, and I'll be off like a shot.
Speaking of shots, 1500 words left and zillions of minutes of staring blankly at my computer screen - someone please shoot me or bring me some shots of vodka. A drunken essay might at least make for interesting reading.
See you when the next stint of procrastination falls.