ramble ramble ramble, die.
I have too much time on my hands and not enough to do.
Every morning when I wake up I feel:
a) kind of gross
b) reluctant to get out of bed because I can’t think of what to do once I am out there.
c) like I wish I could cry.
d) like I wish that I could cry so much that I would almost welcome someone to come punch me in the face, so that it would finally happen.
e) like if I lay still enough, my molecules will be able to feel a ghost.
f) uncertain about whether or not I want to feel a ghost.
g) like if I lay still enough I will be able to feel a bomb.
h) afraid that I wouldn’t be able to relate to anybody anymore if I were lucid about things like bombs.
i) in particular, bombs that have gone off in the past.
j) in particular, nuclear bombs.
k) in particular, nuclear bombs that have been detonated by the country, of which I am a citizen.
l) in particular, ones that were set off in cities where people lived.
m) caught in debate about whether I should aim for 8 hours or 10 hours of sleep, and curious about whether those 2 extra hours would be better spent “getting things done” or “remaining calm in a state of dormant meditation”
n) a little worried
~~
Here is the thing about being alone: It’s really easy to end up feeling like you’re all alone. I look around and notice that there is no one here with me. This could form a mathematic equation, suggesting that out of all the people in the world (6.5 billion?) none of them are with me right now, meaning that all of them have chosen to not be with me right now, and well, why wouldn’t any of them want to be with me? Not even one of them?
The math behind this statement is pretty subjective.
It ignores the fact that I am choosing to be alone because I want to.
But it’s pretty accurate about how it actually feels sometimes.
I end up feeling a little nerdy and exposed.
Some days I feel old, and terrible(today). It is reassuring for me to recall that I felt old and terrible in pretty much just the same way back when I was 15.
~
Today is gross. Today is awful. I hate this weather. If summer is a floating barge(Marge!), drifting slowly, splayed with friends and picnics and sunshine and nothing much,
autumn is what happens when that barge hits the edge of the planet, and all of the fun and friends go sliding right off the edge.
Into what are we now sliding, if we have hit the edge of the planet??
This is exactly the horrible question that makes fall so terrifying.
And why does the fall even make me feel scared?? I wonder if anyone else even feels the same way. To me, the air just feels kind of unsafe. I get a sense that anything could happen, and might, and that I don’t even have the imagination for how scary it could be. The sky seems to be yawning open more widely in the fall than at any other time.
I guess it’s just death. Everything dies in the fall, and I can feel it.