ch4ntillyl4ce
"Take me to a circus tent where I can easily pay my rent." - Jefferson Airplane.
Oh.
. . . God, it rains too much here.
It really rains more than necessary.
Streets are flooded.
Our little trench in the backyard wouldn't be a good place to hide a body.
That's how much rain has fallen in the past couple days.
I can't tell you how depressing it is.
Just sitting back and watching it happen.
It isn't fair. It could be warm, and the sun could be shining.
Although that wouldn't change the fact that I suspect the loss of my sanity.
It's not really a bad thing.
It's keeping me in line, I know.
It's keeping me within my own mental boundaries.
Which is slightly ironic, since boundaries are erotica for madness.
My future sister in law and I went for a walk yesterday.
It's about four miles one way, to simply reach the downtown.
I was very tempted to sit on a large statue of a cow, right outside an ice cream parlor.
Why? Christ, who knows?
We had a meeting (well, more of a kind run-in) with a herd of three stoners as well.
For a short moment I wished I had just a little something.
I kind of wish I had my own little marijuana garden.
Or money for acid.
Part of me is needing to "check out".
I could, easily. I have quite enough sleeping pills to knock King Kong into next fall.
Sleep just doesn't fulfill me anymore. I'm still tired.
Is it really a physical fatigue?
I find myself very daft lately. I can't even speak properly, and I seem to be speaking as if I'm a robot.
And little more.
So that's what life's like in the real world.
For eighteen years you're used to people telling you what you want to hear.
And for the rest of your life, suddenly . . . you're telling them what they want to hear.
Although, naturally, as they had . . . you're not even thinking about it.
Lately I've been very as-a-matter-of-factly.
I have an eating disorder.
Anorexia and I have a very love-hate relationship.
But mostly I have an immense fondness for my ED.
An immense fondness, longing, and appreciation for Ana.
I just recently confessed of this toward my future mother in law.
Part of me wants to come out of it.
Finally, after seven years.
But most of me is just like, fuck it. I enjoy letting it run its course, and I'm very attached to the idea that it's finally taken me captive, for good. I love my eating disorder, and it, in return, loves me enough to make me a more beautiful person.
Last night I stayed up until four in the morning.
And I out-bid someone by thirty cents.
For a double record album.
I know.
I'm very pathetic.
I wish I could write more often.
I don't have the drive or determination anymore.
I don't think anyone is reading anymore.
I don't think anyone cares anymore.
I noticed Andrew came around a few times this week.
Thank you. Please leave a comment if you're going to read.
I'm still curious as to what you were referring to in the last few entries you made.
I bought a notebook a few months ago.
I wrote in it about four times.
And finally, I said to myself, this isn't doing anything for me!
Nothing really "does it" for me anymore. Although, today.
Since it's been raining for about seven million years.
Since I can't go outside (I hate wet feet, and I hate dirty glasses - you know, after they dry off).
And I can't just say fuck it, I'm going to go find something to do, I'm just going to sit in the house. And wait. Tomorrow I'm calling off work. I'll probably just sleep all damned day while it rains for another thousand years.
I learned today that my dad bought a truck.
He's always wanted a truck.
Want to know what I've always wanted?
An airplane.
Actually, no.
I don't know what I want.
See, that is exactly the "indecisive" mood I'm in today. Everything either pisses me off or just makes me want to dig a hole and stay there for a while. Nothing fulfills me today. I'm not even excited for the arrival of my records (although, I have placed bids on obscure things that are guaranteed to be sold for under a dollar). And I'm not particularly excited about anything at all!
I'm not even particularly happy or particularly whole. I'm just and only myself, as I always have been, and always will be. Granted that's probably my depressive side kicking in . . . but whatever. I should be enjoying the time I have left with my sweetheart before he starts school.
Christ knows I'm taking a major backburner pretty soon.
But, oh.
That's just.
The "word".
"Oh."
Not a disappointed "oh".
Or a conversational "oh".
Not a conclusive "oh."
It's just "oh".
And, I'm not sure if anyone has really realized this (or that anyone has honestly read this far to give a shit) but I'm really . . . "oh" . . . you know, that, I've just gotten up from bed and I want to go back for as long as I can, or everything's the same as it was yesterday, and as it will be today.
And tomorrow.
Oh.
. . . It sure does rain a lot.
It really rains more than necessary.
Streets are flooded.
Our little trench in the backyard wouldn't be a good place to hide a body.
That's how much rain has fallen in the past couple days.
I can't tell you how depressing it is.
Just sitting back and watching it happen.
It isn't fair. It could be warm, and the sun could be shining.
Although that wouldn't change the fact that I suspect the loss of my sanity.
It's not really a bad thing.
It's keeping me in line, I know.
It's keeping me within my own mental boundaries.
Which is slightly ironic, since boundaries are erotica for madness.
My future sister in law and I went for a walk yesterday.
It's about four miles one way, to simply reach the downtown.
I was very tempted to sit on a large statue of a cow, right outside an ice cream parlor.
Why? Christ, who knows?
We had a meeting (well, more of a kind run-in) with a herd of three stoners as well.
For a short moment I wished I had just a little something.
I kind of wish I had my own little marijuana garden.
Or money for acid.
Part of me is needing to "check out".
I could, easily. I have quite enough sleeping pills to knock King Kong into next fall.
Sleep just doesn't fulfill me anymore. I'm still tired.
Is it really a physical fatigue?
I find myself very daft lately. I can't even speak properly, and I seem to be speaking as if I'm a robot.
And little more.
So that's what life's like in the real world.
For eighteen years you're used to people telling you what you want to hear.
And for the rest of your life, suddenly . . . you're telling them what they want to hear.
Although, naturally, as they had . . . you're not even thinking about it.
Lately I've been very as-a-matter-of-factly.
I have an eating disorder.
Anorexia and I have a very love-hate relationship.
But mostly I have an immense fondness for my ED.
An immense fondness, longing, and appreciation for Ana.
I just recently confessed of this toward my future mother in law.
Part of me wants to come out of it.
Finally, after seven years.
But most of me is just like, fuck it. I enjoy letting it run its course, and I'm very attached to the idea that it's finally taken me captive, for good. I love my eating disorder, and it, in return, loves me enough to make me a more beautiful person.
Last night I stayed up until four in the morning.
And I out-bid someone by thirty cents.
For a double record album.
I know.
I'm very pathetic.
I wish I could write more often.
I don't have the drive or determination anymore.
I don't think anyone is reading anymore.
I don't think anyone cares anymore.
I noticed Andrew came around a few times this week.
Thank you. Please leave a comment if you're going to read.
I'm still curious as to what you were referring to in the last few entries you made.
I bought a notebook a few months ago.
I wrote in it about four times.
And finally, I said to myself, this isn't doing anything for me!
Nothing really "does it" for me anymore. Although, today.
Since it's been raining for about seven million years.
Since I can't go outside (I hate wet feet, and I hate dirty glasses - you know, after they dry off).
And I can't just say fuck it, I'm going to go find something to do, I'm just going to sit in the house. And wait. Tomorrow I'm calling off work. I'll probably just sleep all damned day while it rains for another thousand years.
I learned today that my dad bought a truck.
He's always wanted a truck.
Want to know what I've always wanted?
An airplane.
Actually, no.
I don't know what I want.
See, that is exactly the "indecisive" mood I'm in today. Everything either pisses me off or just makes me want to dig a hole and stay there for a while. Nothing fulfills me today. I'm not even excited for the arrival of my records (although, I have placed bids on obscure things that are guaranteed to be sold for under a dollar). And I'm not particularly excited about anything at all!
I'm not even particularly happy or particularly whole. I'm just and only myself, as I always have been, and always will be. Granted that's probably my depressive side kicking in . . . but whatever. I should be enjoying the time I have left with my sweetheart before he starts school.
Christ knows I'm taking a major backburner pretty soon.
But, oh.
That's just.
The "word".
"Oh."
Not a disappointed "oh".
Or a conversational "oh".
Not a conclusive "oh."
It's just "oh".
And, I'm not sure if anyone has really realized this (or that anyone has honestly read this far to give a shit) but I'm really . . . "oh" . . . you know, that, I've just gotten up from bed and I want to go back for as long as I can, or everything's the same as it was yesterday, and as it will be today.
And tomorrow.
Oh.
. . . It sure does rain a lot.
R.
Time to make the donuts.
Get clicking.
Day trippers.
Are 'friends' electric?
Long week... - ...goodnight.
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