j. alfred prufrock.
at the end of the night, after what feels like the longest day of the longest year and my feet ache walking home, down south street, to my mess of an apartment, i think about how good it will feel to sprawl out across my bed and just stare up at the ceiling and not think about anything at all, just lay there completely alone with myself.
that is all i want after a long day of classes and work. which is everyday, except sunday, which is the day when i mourn the person i've become.
or lost and cannot seem to find.
there was so much life in everything, once. there was so much bottled in solitary moments. eyes meeting on a train. the silence of a late night drive. watching fireworks in the pouring rain. and sleeping in cars to watch the sunrise at the ocean. it's been months since i've been there. & even longer since i have watched a band that made me feel the least bit of anything. i want to drown, sometimes.
i know i'm young but i feel old. the novelty of experiencing emotion has worn out for me and nothing feels new or good or makes my heart ache a little bit anymore. i'd like to say i feel embarrassed about the fact that i miss talking on aim, but i don't. and i certainly do not feel embarrassed to say i miss the days when everyone had a livejournal (or xanga!). not to say that i cannot feel anything if it is not framed by the written word, but i feel something lacking all the time because of the absence of written correspondences. they were a big part of my life. come on, icq? and writing notes in study hall. and writing letters freshman year to all of our friends that lived across the states.
words carry so much weight and no one talks like a poem anymore. i wish people wrote more often. especially to me. or anyone really. stream of consciousness. nothing compares.
at any rate, the fact that i've become forced to be self-sufficient doesn't help this identity crisis i'm having. i've always done exactly what i've wanted to do, when i've wanted to do it. but i never had to think about money. and i never had to work like im working now. i'm working my ass off this year and sometimes all i really want to do after work is have a couple of beers, sit outside with a stranger while they chainsmoke, and have a decent conversation. but i'm too bitter for that, anyway. and i always have a paper to write or a novel to read or a lesson to teach in the morning and never have time to feel alive anymore. and driving to the ocean to get away from it all isn't an option anymore. i cannot just float by.
in other news, kristine & i are renting a house come december 1st. in port richmond, which is thankfully away from the heart of this city, where maybe i can find some peace & quiet! we will have a backyard to build an igloo for margaret and her new feline friend, elliott. and a basement for all of my instruments to collect dust, which is surely the same thing they're doing now, in the living room. i wrote a poem about it. the death of things, all things, is a sad thing.
this will be my new room.
where i will start to wake up early and walk the streets just after sunrise
and pick kristine flowers, in the springtime.
and this is where i will drink coffee from my french press every morning, afternoon, & night.
that is all i want after a long day of classes and work. which is everyday, except sunday, which is the day when i mourn the person i've become.
or lost and cannot seem to find.
there was so much life in everything, once. there was so much bottled in solitary moments. eyes meeting on a train. the silence of a late night drive. watching fireworks in the pouring rain. and sleeping in cars to watch the sunrise at the ocean. it's been months since i've been there. & even longer since i have watched a band that made me feel the least bit of anything. i want to drown, sometimes.
i know i'm young but i feel old. the novelty of experiencing emotion has worn out for me and nothing feels new or good or makes my heart ache a little bit anymore. i'd like to say i feel embarrassed about the fact that i miss talking on aim, but i don't. and i certainly do not feel embarrassed to say i miss the days when everyone had a livejournal (or xanga!). not to say that i cannot feel anything if it is not framed by the written word, but i feel something lacking all the time because of the absence of written correspondences. they were a big part of my life. come on, icq? and writing notes in study hall. and writing letters freshman year to all of our friends that lived across the states.
words carry so much weight and no one talks like a poem anymore. i wish people wrote more often. especially to me. or anyone really. stream of consciousness. nothing compares.
at any rate, the fact that i've become forced to be self-sufficient doesn't help this identity crisis i'm having. i've always done exactly what i've wanted to do, when i've wanted to do it. but i never had to think about money. and i never had to work like im working now. i'm working my ass off this year and sometimes all i really want to do after work is have a couple of beers, sit outside with a stranger while they chainsmoke, and have a decent conversation. but i'm too bitter for that, anyway. and i always have a paper to write or a novel to read or a lesson to teach in the morning and never have time to feel alive anymore. and driving to the ocean to get away from it all isn't an option anymore. i cannot just float by.
in other news, kristine & i are renting a house come december 1st. in port richmond, which is thankfully away from the heart of this city, where maybe i can find some peace & quiet! we will have a backyard to build an igloo for margaret and her new feline friend, elliott. and a basement for all of my instruments to collect dust, which is surely the same thing they're doing now, in the living room. i wrote a poem about it. the death of things, all things, is a sad thing.
this will be my new room.
where i will start to wake up early and walk the streets just after sunrise
and pick kristine flowers, in the springtime.
and this is where i will drink coffee from my french press every morning, afternoon, & night.