(no subject)
This is an exercise in sleep deprivation in order to sleep well into the day tomorrow. On principle.
What does it mean that I'm paranoid that lamentation...a search for compassion, now simply seems like whining, bitching. Have I been listening to my insecure boyfriend too much? Probably, but I don't worry about that too much. I believe that myself, my utter self, is unstoppable and only more so. His insistence that my deep...almost the truest I have...empathy for what people went through at the various ground zeros around the country seven years ago...is in some way a marker that "THE TERRRISTS HAVE 1" distances me from him even a bit more. My father mentioned to me that he thinks we'll be over soon. That I'm several years ahead of Chris. This made me sad, but mostly from a self-preservation view, as if I'm the one that's going to wither first.
Is this intimate text sabotage? Is that my deprivation? No, I truly believe that we're strong. Perhaps because we aren't as close as I am to other people in my life. Maybe that's why I think we'll work. The distance is enough for me to remain myself. When I was with Jim, who I loved so insanely for several years of my life, I had no conception of myself at all. I couldn't hear myself talking to him or actually feel myself as separate or separated. I've had that experience and as transcendental as it is, it's too illusory for me. In some ways, unhealthy for me. I suppose my current relationship has allowed me the freedom to find in many people what I want out of my life. A travel companion would be key, since my boyfriend doesn't really like traveling. Another would be a dance partner. I believe the other positions are currently filled. I will probably ask Rae soon if I can go down to Philly with her, and I'll try to bring Chris although I doubt I'll be successful. I can only ask though- My life is becoming much too busy to beg.
I saw Frazer tonight. It was so wonderful seeing that bald head of support and freshly powdered fatherhood. He makes me feel at home and strange, so therefore, entirely comfortable. I feel like even if I spoke backwards, he knows me enough and in some way believes in me enough to be able to still completely understand what I have to say. It was a little spark of electricity that nudged from his head and gave me the green light to leave Smith behind. Not that I've been living in the past, but it has been the last frontier of my intellectual effort. But this is now no longer. I have to say, that even though my scholarship stipend was minimal, I will gladly pay the bills for the experience I've only so far had two weeks of. It's going to make me a fantastically better person, to myself. I may even meet some desperately important people in my life and maybe figure out what to do with the rest. I'm proud of myself that I've never had the attitude that I'm going to be looking forward to my life or ready for my life to begin. It is here. I'm doing it and I'm becoming more conscious everyday. I love and I want to love more. We'll see what happens then.
When I wake up, there is an animal asleep in my face. I see it crouching in what is sure to become bags, pouches, fanny packs, under my eye lid. I am surprisingly entertaining the idea of an eye lift for my 60th birthday. I think of my mother and the mountainous protuberance of benign cancerous flesh on her face. I am reminded of motherhood and roundness and my entire life knowing that mega mole. I remember it in elementary school, how it nestled against the frame of her eyeglasses. How would my life have been different if she had removed that mole? What would have come next? What about her would speak mother after the mole was gone, breasts amputated, body thinned? If I keep them, what should I fill my bags with? They seem inclined to hold tears, but I'll put something of my mother's in there. Unfortunately, the only things coming to mind are much too large, alive or bulky to store in there. I miss you mom.
What does it mean that I'm paranoid that lamentation...a search for compassion, now simply seems like whining, bitching. Have I been listening to my insecure boyfriend too much? Probably, but I don't worry about that too much. I believe that myself, my utter self, is unstoppable and only more so. His insistence that my deep...almost the truest I have...empathy for what people went through at the various ground zeros around the country seven years ago...is in some way a marker that "THE TERRRISTS HAVE 1" distances me from him even a bit more. My father mentioned to me that he thinks we'll be over soon. That I'm several years ahead of Chris. This made me sad, but mostly from a self-preservation view, as if I'm the one that's going to wither first.
Is this intimate text sabotage? Is that my deprivation? No, I truly believe that we're strong. Perhaps because we aren't as close as I am to other people in my life. Maybe that's why I think we'll work. The distance is enough for me to remain myself. When I was with Jim, who I loved so insanely for several years of my life, I had no conception of myself at all. I couldn't hear myself talking to him or actually feel myself as separate or separated. I've had that experience and as transcendental as it is, it's too illusory for me. In some ways, unhealthy for me. I suppose my current relationship has allowed me the freedom to find in many people what I want out of my life. A travel companion would be key, since my boyfriend doesn't really like traveling. Another would be a dance partner. I believe the other positions are currently filled. I will probably ask Rae soon if I can go down to Philly with her, and I'll try to bring Chris although I doubt I'll be successful. I can only ask though- My life is becoming much too busy to beg.
I saw Frazer tonight. It was so wonderful seeing that bald head of support and freshly powdered fatherhood. He makes me feel at home and strange, so therefore, entirely comfortable. I feel like even if I spoke backwards, he knows me enough and in some way believes in me enough to be able to still completely understand what I have to say. It was a little spark of electricity that nudged from his head and gave me the green light to leave Smith behind. Not that I've been living in the past, but it has been the last frontier of my intellectual effort. But this is now no longer. I have to say, that even though my scholarship stipend was minimal, I will gladly pay the bills for the experience I've only so far had two weeks of. It's going to make me a fantastically better person, to myself. I may even meet some desperately important people in my life and maybe figure out what to do with the rest. I'm proud of myself that I've never had the attitude that I'm going to be looking forward to my life or ready for my life to begin. It is here. I'm doing it and I'm becoming more conscious everyday. I love and I want to love more. We'll see what happens then.
When I wake up, there is an animal asleep in my face. I see it crouching in what is sure to become bags, pouches, fanny packs, under my eye lid. I am surprisingly entertaining the idea of an eye lift for my 60th birthday. I think of my mother and the mountainous protuberance of benign cancerous flesh on her face. I am reminded of motherhood and roundness and my entire life knowing that mega mole. I remember it in elementary school, how it nestled against the frame of her eyeglasses. How would my life have been different if she had removed that mole? What would have come next? What about her would speak mother after the mole was gone, breasts amputated, body thinned? If I keep them, what should I fill my bags with? They seem inclined to hold tears, but I'll put something of my mother's in there. Unfortunately, the only things coming to mind are much too large, alive or bulky to store in there. I miss you mom.