(no subject)
1. Emotionally, pathologically (to play on both senses) I am still and perhaps perpetually sixteen years old. I've got the self-restaint, so far at least, to avoid door slamming and notebook doodling yet I seethe over heaps of hurt both real and imagined and yearn and lust in ways that are both embarassingly naive and even more embarassingly direct. I am horribly awkward, incapable of upholding my end of the conversation or moving beyond childish egotism, euphemistically called 'critical reflection' or 'introspection'. Worst, perhaps, of all I am the grossest sort of egoist- I take delight in subverting my ends (washing my roomates dishes when I desperately want her to clean up, staring intently, sympathetically at things that repulse me: my pockmarked face, the very obese, the homeless) and tell myself that this delight, coupled with the basest self-centeredness, is the keenest type of moral sense. I take my rather routine cleverness as a sign of depth and my inability to stand up for myself and act in my interest as a weak yet authentic form of saintliness. Two weeks ago I brought a warm meal (microwaved leftovers) to a homeless man in the rain and I still see it as a sign of my redeeming value.
2. Melodrama is just as crass a crime as willing, acknowledge stasis.
2. Melodrama is just as crass a crime as willing, acknowledge stasis.