I really miss knowing and talking to people, and I always wish that more people were around for me to know and talk to and befriend, but for some reason in general the people I've liked best in my life are unavailable to me. I feel as if I only know maybe 5 people left in the entire world, which is sort of hurtful and sad, like my existence is being erased. Many times, I've written emails to one friend or another who I cared a lot about and who happened to be particularly poor at responding to emails, begging for details about their life, to have those emails go unanswered. I understand why, but I don't understand why. It's as if I've spent my entire childhood, adolescence, and nascent adulthood trying to convince myself I have friends.
I am particularly lonesome for a lot of things I can't describe. If I were a better, more organized person, I would be reading school books instead of writing this letter to no one. Much, I guess, as my friends read their books or do their work instead of writing letters to me. I am drinking an alcoholic drink from France that is called "pastis". It is a pale delicious yellow color like cloudy lemon juice, but tastes of black licorice.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Silly little things.
Logged into amazon to track a shipment, and found the same 4 things being recommended to me over and over again: Mad Men, diabetic compression socks (bought once as a christmas gift for my aunt), books about Shinto, books about Alain Badiou. Nothing else, just those four things, over and over again. This is what I am, according to consumerism!
Right at this moment in time, I am trying to make myself do the work to complete my MA. This should not be very hard; I have to refine/rewrite three papers, then give these three papers to three professors who seem kindly disposed towards me. Not bad, but I do not seem to want to do it. Instead, I seem to want to sit at my computer all day, laughing at funny things on the internet, taking time out to play videogames on the Wii that a friend has lent me. My startling lack of productivity makes me feel as though I need to live with a real adult, a parental type, who can give me instructions (or orders, really) on when to do things, and how to do them correctly.
Whoops, now I have the hiccups. Anyway.
I think I really miss, on a subconscious level, that feeling of living with someone in a collaborative environment. One in which you do the dishes regardless of who dirtied what, in which you eat meals together, in which you have conversations about how your life is going that last longer than five minutes. That would be nice, yes? Then the person you share your space with would also be someone who looks out for you, and vice versa. Living in the normal roommate situation is not nearly as homelike.
This definitely struck me as I was having trouble falling asleep last night (I have trouble falling asleep every night, as it turns out), and I was looking at the walls in my room and feeling a sort of disgust for them. As though it was so disheartening to still be within those walls. But, after a year and a half living in this apartment, shouldn't that bedroom and those walls feel homelike to me? Shouldn't I be comforted by them? I certainly don't have any ideas about where I'd rather be sleeping.
Maybe it's just that the walls are still a very hideous beige, that I dream of repainting. And that the room is a mess, with my clean clothes still heaped up in either a laundry basket or within/on top of the suitcase I brought home with me from my trip to Florida, nearly a month and half ago. Whoops, again!
Another humorous thing is that within the last month or so, more than one person has told me that I have labored/weird breathing, either while asleep or awake. Now I get to try to go to the doctor and figure out what all that is about, because I don't have any real idea, although it is true that I am easily winded and often sleepy. I already take pills to make my brain chemicals work, to fall asleep at night, to supplement my body with the vitamins I am worried it is not getting from my food, and I even take a pill that is supposed to keep my skin from breaking out so badly that I have to refuse to leave the house. Oh and I spent years in painful orthodontia, have worse vision than a bat and no sonar to augment it, had surgery on my right eye last year and need to have some kind of laser treatment on the left, have kind of a fucked-up spine that needs a chiropractor's touch, and my hair has some unfortunately-placed cowlicks. What else could possibly be wrong with my body! Apparently, even more things.
The sun isn't out today either. Boo to that! Maybe quarter to two is a good time to start drinking?
Right at this moment in time, I am trying to make myself do the work to complete my MA. This should not be very hard; I have to refine/rewrite three papers, then give these three papers to three professors who seem kindly disposed towards me. Not bad, but I do not seem to want to do it. Instead, I seem to want to sit at my computer all day, laughing at funny things on the internet, taking time out to play videogames on the Wii that a friend has lent me. My startling lack of productivity makes me feel as though I need to live with a real adult, a parental type, who can give me instructions (or orders, really) on when to do things, and how to do them correctly.
Whoops, now I have the hiccups. Anyway.
I think I really miss, on a subconscious level, that feeling of living with someone in a collaborative environment. One in which you do the dishes regardless of who dirtied what, in which you eat meals together, in which you have conversations about how your life is going that last longer than five minutes. That would be nice, yes? Then the person you share your space with would also be someone who looks out for you, and vice versa. Living in the normal roommate situation is not nearly as homelike.
This definitely struck me as I was having trouble falling asleep last night (I have trouble falling asleep every night, as it turns out), and I was looking at the walls in my room and feeling a sort of disgust for them. As though it was so disheartening to still be within those walls. But, after a year and a half living in this apartment, shouldn't that bedroom and those walls feel homelike to me? Shouldn't I be comforted by them? I certainly don't have any ideas about where I'd rather be sleeping.
Maybe it's just that the walls are still a very hideous beige, that I dream of repainting. And that the room is a mess, with my clean clothes still heaped up in either a laundry basket or within/on top of the suitcase I brought home with me from my trip to Florida, nearly a month and half ago. Whoops, again!
Another humorous thing is that within the last month or so, more than one person has told me that I have labored/weird breathing, either while asleep or awake. Now I get to try to go to the doctor and figure out what all that is about, because I don't have any real idea, although it is true that I am easily winded and often sleepy. I already take pills to make my brain chemicals work, to fall asleep at night, to supplement my body with the vitamins I am worried it is not getting from my food, and I even take a pill that is supposed to keep my skin from breaking out so badly that I have to refuse to leave the house. Oh and I spent years in painful orthodontia, have worse vision than a bat and no sonar to augment it, had surgery on my right eye last year and need to have some kind of laser treatment on the left, have kind of a fucked-up spine that needs a chiropractor's touch, and my hair has some unfortunately-placed cowlicks. What else could possibly be wrong with my body! Apparently, even more things.
The sun isn't out today either. Boo to that! Maybe quarter to two is a good time to start drinking?
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