4/22
Woke from a voyeuristic dream this morning.
Movie plot like. With RISD friends, including Kevin Lee; we were searching for certain items. We flew around until we spotted a normal parking lot area, with a hole in a patch of grass. In the hole were items from our past or previous lives. As I marveled at this, I talked to an elderly lady nearby, realizing I recognized her face. Somehow I hadn't before, even though it was grandma Nancy, and she still didn't recognize me. I'd already changed time, or else, been forgotten by my grandparents (grandpa was there too). I felt sad and disconnected from them, but they were clueless. It's like it wasn't even me there.
I was now a part of, and watching, a kind of romance movie. Of course, I wasn't the protagonist; my friend, who resembled Saorise Ronan, was falling in love with a guy who she recently met. I knew they were perfect for each other. Meanwhile, I had a guy friend who kept calling out the name of this girl (who I didn't consider to be attractive) we saw around town. She'd be walking down the street and he'd always say hello, and I knew he genuinely meant it. She didn't notice, even when we stood behind or beside her, and he stared. My romance-crazed brain didn't mind though - as I said, it hardly felt as though I was present.
I sweat so much when I spoke with my prayer partner today. As we shared our current state and difficult things, I was already overly warm but then I got all sticky. I told him about my desires to see my ex, loneliness, and even how my therapist has been bringing to light how I struggle to accept my emotions. I won't share what he said, for his own privacy. While he can be tricky to read, I think I gained more understanding of him and his habits. With this, comes my own ideas of how he should respond, but I think we have some similar flaws, and I am hypocritical. My emotions often embarrass me before I can acknowledge them. Accompany that with pride, which seals everything up in hard-to-open packages, and I can be a difficult person.
tmp
maybe 40% good
4/18
So much anxiety hovers about all the things I set in my mind, and judge myself for not doing. But I have done some cool things.
Today I designed the outfits grid to add to my zine, and posted on instagram. Went for walk along my usual Myrtle to Cartegena route. Jocelyn bought a pre-order for my album CD, since I set up a Bandcamp yesterday. My goal is to re-record the songs by 4/30, so I spent a few hours trying to perfect 'Cigarette song', 'Maybe it's strange', and 'Complete.' Still not 100% about Complete, but it's better. My hand got cramped a lot, and now my fingertips are sore, but it's satisfying to know I made some music today. Even freestyled a little tune, which I may include as a bonus clip.
For dinner, I made us vegetarian curry stew, which I currently smell like (garlic, curry, turmeric mainly), along with soft-boiled eggs, rice, & chopped mint. It is still one of my favorite meals to make and eat. I video called Kay while eating, and we had one of out more positive and light conversations, as I don't think we felt like talking about difficult things. She's been reading lots of manga and watching anime, and also teaching online. While we were talking she drew comics that have been her daily activity with Josh, who shares her love of sequential, animated art. I'm inspired by their interaction, and encouraged by her ordering me to finish my CD and zine to mail them both to her.
Now I am in need of a shower, and attempting to articulate this lingering mood from yesterday, mixed with today's lightness. I went on a zoom call with several of the women from community group around 5pm. When I got on, all I wanted to do was leave - we chatted a bit then my social meter dipped. But Steph lead us to share about what's happening with us spiritually/personally, and everyone started relating to feeling left out of God's blessing or not enough. Of course I related, but I didn't want to open up - a stubborn silence or resistance had prevented me from speaking. I kept a cool face and when Jezy asked how I was, I could only mention my lack of excitement for my morning devotional time lately.
I know it's partially pride, or entirely.
I don't want to give answers like everyone. Also I am not entirely sure how I'm doing. I'm still falling into obsessiveness about my ex, have low dips of esteem about my art and appearance, can't seem to cry, have been creating more than usual, enjoying time with siblings, and am physically healthy. Hard to say it's 50/50 good and bad - objectively, I don't like things, but my mood isn't always down.
I wish I did say more. It does affect the group, and I don't want to have a negative influence that causes silence. Just frustratingly prideful and confused.
tmp
So much anxiety hovers about all the things I set in my mind, and judge myself for not doing. But I have done some cool things.
Today I designed the outfits grid to add to my zine, and posted on instagram. Went for walk along my usual Myrtle to Cartegena route. Jocelyn bought a pre-order for my album CD, since I set up a Bandcamp yesterday. My goal is to re-record the songs by 4/30, so I spent a few hours trying to perfect 'Cigarette song', 'Maybe it's strange', and 'Complete.' Still not 100% about Complete, but it's better. My hand got cramped a lot, and now my fingertips are sore, but it's satisfying to know I made some music today. Even freestyled a little tune, which I may include as a bonus clip.
For dinner, I made us vegetarian curry stew, which I currently smell like (garlic, curry, turmeric mainly), along with soft-boiled eggs, rice, & chopped mint. It is still one of my favorite meals to make and eat. I video called Kay while eating, and we had one of out more positive and light conversations, as I don't think we felt like talking about difficult things. She's been reading lots of manga and watching anime, and also teaching online. While we were talking she drew comics that have been her daily activity with Josh, who shares her love of sequential, animated art. I'm inspired by their interaction, and encouraged by her ordering me to finish my CD and zine to mail them both to her.
Now I am in need of a shower, and attempting to articulate this lingering mood from yesterday, mixed with today's lightness. I went on a zoom call with several of the women from community group around 5pm. When I got on, all I wanted to do was leave - we chatted a bit then my social meter dipped. But Steph lead us to share about what's happening with us spiritually/personally, and everyone started relating to feeling left out of God's blessing or not enough. Of course I related, but I didn't want to open up - a stubborn silence or resistance had prevented me from speaking. I kept a cool face and when Jezy asked how I was, I could only mention my lack of excitement for my morning devotional time lately.
I know it's partially pride, or entirely.
I don't want to give answers like everyone. Also I am not entirely sure how I'm doing. I'm still falling into obsessiveness about my ex, have low dips of esteem about my art and appearance, can't seem to cry, have been creating more than usual, enjoying time with siblings, and am physically healthy. Hard to say it's 50/50 good and bad - objectively, I don't like things, but my mood isn't always down.
I wish I did say more. It does affect the group, and I don't want to have a negative influence that causes silence. Just frustratingly prideful and confused.
tmp
my dreams occur to me on walks
4/14
Began in a slow, reflective state.
After teaching, I browsed through pinterest for some time, then showered. I sang wondering spontaneous lines as I scrubbed my skin red. Most of the lyrics were about my current confusion of feelings, and I would've liked to keep them but I forgot as soon as I began each following line.
I put on my green lazy dress and soft denim coat and started on my walk. The coat is something I was given by W, but I have no intention of giving it away. It is one of my favorite pieces, with a classic look, good pockets, and big blue buttons. The weather is sunny and perfectly breezy, so I didn't really need to wear it, but I always prefer to feel secure/covered. Pushing up the sleeves and keeping it open worked fine.
Lately, I've been resorting to the same paths on my walks - turning on California, then going down Burlinghall or Tehachepi - but I walked a longer route today that I occasionally take, crossing Carson and down Myrtle. As I reached Carson, I noticed a typed page on the sidewalk, then some more in the street gutter and walk. I gathered as many as I could before the light change, and began organizing them back into order. The very first page begins with "the queen was charged with committing adultery with 5 men, of whom one was her brother ... and she was condemned to be beheaded or burned alive at the king's pleasure." The top of the page reads in bold: "ELIZABETH THE GREAT". There were other pages, so I decided to return for the rest.
Yet for a little while, I thought of other things. Some of W, some of another insignificant bumble conversation, and a perfectly good beheaded poppy that I picked up. There were several other walkers, as usual; a few couples, a few parents with strollers passed by, and I felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. The last I'd dreamt of kids was with W - I imagined them to be adorable, and for us all to live by the ocean. Though I doubt this would ever have existed, it will certainly not exist now.
I said aloud, "I just want to get married", cried a little, angrily stepping on a cigarette butt.
I'm beginning to believe it's true.
Last night I had a dream, most of which I was fanatically trying to find out how to tell if a baby, who I'd been assigned to care for during a busy wedding, had a concussion. I'd let the child fall from a balcony, and her eye was all wonky, but she was conscious. I needed to know, and my phone didn't work, so I ran through these apartments, all connected through open stairways. They were nearly all occupied by the youth leaders from Arbor Road - Alissa, Catie, Annie. All married happy neighbors in the prime of their lives. I woke up in awe, a little jealous, though just a dream. I think it has truth. I envy those in the stable period of their lives - set with a loving partner, place to all their own, job to provide. How funny, I'd never realized how truly I'd wanted this normative life until now.
Shortly after, I read a page of my found book which Seymour quotes Elizabeth: "I will never marry."
I gathered up the rest that I could find. There was even a page with pictures of her, fully attired, and a smaller one of her father, Henry VIII. The last page is numbered 308, and the first is 13, and there's whole sections missing from 66 - 103, 226 - 304, and others. I can look up the missing parts when curious, yet I now wonder what happened to it. Something or someone aggressively pulled all the pages out, but with few tears. They are very crinkled and appear to have been run over quite a bit, with an embossed surface of the bumpy road.
tmp
Began in a slow, reflective state.
After teaching, I browsed through pinterest for some time, then showered. I sang wondering spontaneous lines as I scrubbed my skin red. Most of the lyrics were about my current confusion of feelings, and I would've liked to keep them but I forgot as soon as I began each following line.
I put on my green lazy dress and soft denim coat and started on my walk. The coat is something I was given by W, but I have no intention of giving it away. It is one of my favorite pieces, with a classic look, good pockets, and big blue buttons. The weather is sunny and perfectly breezy, so I didn't really need to wear it, but I always prefer to feel secure/covered. Pushing up the sleeves and keeping it open worked fine.
Lately, I've been resorting to the same paths on my walks - turning on California, then going down Burlinghall or Tehachepi - but I walked a longer route today that I occasionally take, crossing Carson and down Myrtle. As I reached Carson, I noticed a typed page on the sidewalk, then some more in the street gutter and walk. I gathered as many as I could before the light change, and began organizing them back into order. The very first page begins with "the queen was charged with committing adultery with 5 men, of whom one was her brother ... and she was condemned to be beheaded or burned alive at the king's pleasure." The top of the page reads in bold: "ELIZABETH THE GREAT". There were other pages, so I decided to return for the rest.
Yet for a little while, I thought of other things. Some of W, some of another insignificant bumble conversation, and a perfectly good beheaded poppy that I picked up. There were several other walkers, as usual; a few couples, a few parents with strollers passed by, and I felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. The last I'd dreamt of kids was with W - I imagined them to be adorable, and for us all to live by the ocean. Though I doubt this would ever have existed, it will certainly not exist now.
I said aloud, "I just want to get married", cried a little, angrily stepping on a cigarette butt.
I'm beginning to believe it's true.
Last night I had a dream, most of which I was fanatically trying to find out how to tell if a baby, who I'd been assigned to care for during a busy wedding, had a concussion. I'd let the child fall from a balcony, and her eye was all wonky, but she was conscious. I needed to know, and my phone didn't work, so I ran through these apartments, all connected through open stairways. They were nearly all occupied by the youth leaders from Arbor Road - Alissa, Catie, Annie. All married happy neighbors in the prime of their lives. I woke up in awe, a little jealous, though just a dream. I think it has truth. I envy those in the stable period of their lives - set with a loving partner, place to all their own, job to provide. How funny, I'd never realized how truly I'd wanted this normative life until now.
Shortly after, I read a page of my found book which Seymour quotes Elizabeth: "I will never marry."
I gathered up the rest that I could find. There was even a page with pictures of her, fully attired, and a smaller one of her father, Henry VIII. The last page is numbered 308, and the first is 13, and there's whole sections missing from 66 - 103, 226 - 304, and others. I can look up the missing parts when curious, yet I now wonder what happened to it. Something or someone aggressively pulled all the pages out, but with few tears. They are very crinkled and appear to have been run over quite a bit, with an embossed surface of the bumpy road.
tmp
damp little flame
4/7
I only went outside once, for a minute, to pick a few lemons for a lemon-sauced chicken dad was making for dinner. The rest of today, I stayed indoors since it was pouring. Although, I wouldn't have minded going for a rainy walk. I absorbed myself in drawing instead, and it felt refreshing and a bit awkward to be working on illustration again. The little publication that accepted my poetry asked me to create an illustration for their cover. While I don't expect to be paid, as they are very small, I'm grateful to be working and maybe adding it to my portfolio.
For awhile I listened to a CSH related music music mix. But in the afternoon, when I was only shading things, I played more of SS. I had 2.5 hours left, and now I have 45 minutes, and I'm savoring every last scene. There's not much conclusion forming, and I doubt there will be. My guess is Sumire is Miu, or symbolic of her - only because they have strange connections. Or, Sumire really did enter the other world to find Miu - I have little faith she'll return.
My little flame - as with Tita or Sumire's narrator - is dim lately and fragile. When I find a new source of heat, I grow so inflamed that when I need to calm down, I douse it into submission. I hope I haven't burned up or drenched all the wood in me.
I made sure to put on waterproof boots and find an umbrella for going outside. It was only my backyard, but the weather was downpour and I didn't want to attempt barefoot since my feet already felt cold. I stood in it for a few moments, appreciating the enveloping sound of water.
-
Unfortunately, I don't remember my dream from last night.
I do know it was full and exciting; I recall being very nervous and pressured like a protagonist to solve a major dilemma. I woke up thinking I'd naturally have it visualized all day, it was so vivid with emotional checkpoints. Yet it gradually faded, then was erased to mere dust by listening to Sputnik Sweetheart.
I told them I had nothing in particular that was a low - which could be considered true. The lowness applies to many things, to a portion of my brain.
Maybe if I watch the rain enough times, go on the same walks enough, read enough books, talk to enough people, journal in detail in enough, fall in love enough, reorganize myself enough, I'll be enough to write. These are skinny paragraphs and I'm too early to be a minimalist probably. Yet I am.
I'm both early and old - so many of my habits are old.
It's about time, but makes no difference. I know no one will notice a bookcase differently with/out me. I'm in my imitation phase still. Like any good composer - in their youngest stage - I don't write as myself, purely, yet. I'm both cluttered and fortified by old ideas.
Sumire & I both know - it's just time & experience.
She & her creator are not the same,
I & her creator are not the same either.
She was given her tornado; dual forces combined in a storm, as she slipped into a dream.
I watch out my window wishing I could remember, and for thunder with this rain.
tmp
I only went outside once, for a minute, to pick a few lemons for a lemon-sauced chicken dad was making for dinner. The rest of today, I stayed indoors since it was pouring. Although, I wouldn't have minded going for a rainy walk. I absorbed myself in drawing instead, and it felt refreshing and a bit awkward to be working on illustration again. The little publication that accepted my poetry asked me to create an illustration for their cover. While I don't expect to be paid, as they are very small, I'm grateful to be working and maybe adding it to my portfolio.
For awhile I listened to a CSH related music music mix. But in the afternoon, when I was only shading things, I played more of SS. I had 2.5 hours left, and now I have 45 minutes, and I'm savoring every last scene. There's not much conclusion forming, and I doubt there will be. My guess is Sumire is Miu, or symbolic of her - only because they have strange connections. Or, Sumire really did enter the other world to find Miu - I have little faith she'll return.
My little flame - as with Tita or Sumire's narrator - is dim lately and fragile. When I find a new source of heat, I grow so inflamed that when I need to calm down, I douse it into submission. I hope I haven't burned up or drenched all the wood in me.
I made sure to put on waterproof boots and find an umbrella for going outside. It was only my backyard, but the weather was downpour and I didn't want to attempt barefoot since my feet already felt cold. I stood in it for a few moments, appreciating the enveloping sound of water.
-
Unfortunately, I don't remember my dream from last night.
I do know it was full and exciting; I recall being very nervous and pressured like a protagonist to solve a major dilemma. I woke up thinking I'd naturally have it visualized all day, it was so vivid with emotional checkpoints. Yet it gradually faded, then was erased to mere dust by listening to Sputnik Sweetheart.
I told them I had nothing in particular that was a low - which could be considered true. The lowness applies to many things, to a portion of my brain.
Maybe if I watch the rain enough times, go on the same walks enough, read enough books, talk to enough people, journal in detail in enough, fall in love enough, reorganize myself enough, I'll be enough to write. These are skinny paragraphs and I'm too early to be a minimalist probably. Yet I am.
I'm both early and old - so many of my habits are old.
It's about time, but makes no difference. I know no one will notice a bookcase differently with/out me. I'm in my imitation phase still. Like any good composer - in their youngest stage - I don't write as myself, purely, yet. I'm both cluttered and fortified by old ideas.
Sumire & I both know - it's just time & experience.
She & her creator are not the same,
I & her creator are not the same either.
She was given her tornado; dual forces combined in a storm, as she slipped into a dream.
I watch out my window wishing I could remember, and for thunder with this rain.
tmp
out of my house, mind
4/4
Where am I going
My mindless laying in the grass, trying to dream, leads me to stand up so quickly I get dizzy, then run around in circles thinking I'll get somewhere.
In other words, I have no balance between thinking and not thinking. When I am not thinking, it's like I am sleep walking, guided along an invisible current, unaware how my travels affect reality. Then I think again, at the moment I'm peering over a cliff, and break in a sweat and curse at my lack of consciousness. Of course, that is why I prefer to mostly stay in thinking mode, for fear of these cliffs.
I feel terrible and inspired and pointless.
Like all the beautiful phrases, sentences I could record don't create a whole. They are silent, and no one may ever try to follow along their illusive trails. The words may remind them of ones they've read and found nothing, and so have no curiosity and/or trust for them.
Apart from all I can create, I find little prospects worth devoting my time. It's probably my fault - I assumed most job positions aren't really looking for me after all, and so they don't choose me. I am an odd fit in the work place. My main hope is not to be trapped at teaching Latin - I adore the kids I teach, but I honestly don't care much about improving their education.
The real reason I am here is not to talk about jobs again though.
I, not metaphorically, just attempted an escape. I finished preparing some things for teaching, did a HIIT exercise video, took a shower, put on my lilac cami & white painter pants, packed my white sling bag with my journal, sketchbook, face mask, & wallet, and headed out the door. I told my mom, Lydia, and Nathan that I wanted to go for a drive, which is half-true. I cannot tell flat lies, I'm a dead giveaway.
While I settled my mind into subconsciously driving to Irvine, I listened to SS. It only took me less than 30 minutes, driving at about 70-80 mph the whole way due to lack of traffic. I'd gotten to the part where the main character finally spots Miu at the terminal in Greece, after waiting and feeling painfully hungry. I parked in the community park near his apartment, possibly the same spot I'd chosen 3 1/2 months prior.
Then I felt sick. I was terribly shaky and ashamed I had come this far. My mind had clicked on and was gasping at the reality of where I was. Not a few times I ducked a bit, nervous that he or his parents would walk past and recognize me. This was unlikely, but still, my fully awake and anxious thoughts kept me from even opening my car door.
Bending over, I tried to calm down and use my most coherent thoughts to write down what I'd say to him. I'd say:
I won't pretend everything is ok - so he understood I wasn't there to try to go back, w/o consequences. Then, ask if I could talk with him. If he agreed, I'd explain what I've been going through, lonely me. I'd have to explain why I didn't simply call. Although, I assumed or hoped that he'd understand I prefer to be there in person. Yet my mind took a turn - I would be imposing. Maybe it would be mean to suddenly appear? And so, I found again that nervous hopeless feeling that I'm not supposed to be here, mixed with no desire to leave. All of me wanted to just hold him, be held by him, yet it wouldn't be that simple. In a heartless film perhaps, with a character who's face you have amnesia about, but I am not that detached.
I opened google maps to find some place to use my time and assuage my desire to stay out. After a stop for gas nearby, I made my way to the PCH to drive along the coast. I passed through Huntington Beach as Miu explains the last night she saw Sumire. It was 4:15 when I got home, but I stayed in my car to keep listening to some of Sumire's personal writings found on a secret floppy disk. There'd be clues to her disappearance hopefully. She talked much about thinking and not thinking - writing vs. being swept up in love - which greatly inspired my intro to this entry. I imagine that those somewhat disorganized ideas are similar to what Murakami's journal is like.
tmp
Where am I going
My mindless laying in the grass, trying to dream, leads me to stand up so quickly I get dizzy, then run around in circles thinking I'll get somewhere.
In other words, I have no balance between thinking and not thinking. When I am not thinking, it's like I am sleep walking, guided along an invisible current, unaware how my travels affect reality. Then I think again, at the moment I'm peering over a cliff, and break in a sweat and curse at my lack of consciousness. Of course, that is why I prefer to mostly stay in thinking mode, for fear of these cliffs.
I feel terrible and inspired and pointless.
Like all the beautiful phrases, sentences I could record don't create a whole. They are silent, and no one may ever try to follow along their illusive trails. The words may remind them of ones they've read and found nothing, and so have no curiosity and/or trust for them.
Apart from all I can create, I find little prospects worth devoting my time. It's probably my fault - I assumed most job positions aren't really looking for me after all, and so they don't choose me. I am an odd fit in the work place. My main hope is not to be trapped at teaching Latin - I adore the kids I teach, but I honestly don't care much about improving their education.
The real reason I am here is not to talk about jobs again though.
I, not metaphorically, just attempted an escape. I finished preparing some things for teaching, did a HIIT exercise video, took a shower, put on my lilac cami & white painter pants, packed my white sling bag with my journal, sketchbook, face mask, & wallet, and headed out the door. I told my mom, Lydia, and Nathan that I wanted to go for a drive, which is half-true. I cannot tell flat lies, I'm a dead giveaway.
While I settled my mind into subconsciously driving to Irvine, I listened to SS. It only took me less than 30 minutes, driving at about 70-80 mph the whole way due to lack of traffic. I'd gotten to the part where the main character finally spots Miu at the terminal in Greece, after waiting and feeling painfully hungry. I parked in the community park near his apartment, possibly the same spot I'd chosen 3 1/2 months prior.
Then I felt sick. I was terribly shaky and ashamed I had come this far. My mind had clicked on and was gasping at the reality of where I was. Not a few times I ducked a bit, nervous that he or his parents would walk past and recognize me. This was unlikely, but still, my fully awake and anxious thoughts kept me from even opening my car door.
Bending over, I tried to calm down and use my most coherent thoughts to write down what I'd say to him. I'd say:
I won't pretend everything is ok - so he understood I wasn't there to try to go back, w/o consequences. Then, ask if I could talk with him. If he agreed, I'd explain what I've been going through, lonely me. I'd have to explain why I didn't simply call. Although, I assumed or hoped that he'd understand I prefer to be there in person. Yet my mind took a turn - I would be imposing. Maybe it would be mean to suddenly appear? And so, I found again that nervous hopeless feeling that I'm not supposed to be here, mixed with no desire to leave. All of me wanted to just hold him, be held by him, yet it wouldn't be that simple. In a heartless film perhaps, with a character who's face you have amnesia about, but I am not that detached.
I opened google maps to find some place to use my time and assuage my desire to stay out. After a stop for gas nearby, I made my way to the PCH to drive along the coast. I passed through Huntington Beach as Miu explains the last night she saw Sumire. It was 4:15 when I got home, but I stayed in my car to keep listening to some of Sumire's personal writings found on a secret floppy disk. There'd be clues to her disappearance hopefully. She talked much about thinking and not thinking - writing vs. being swept up in love - which greatly inspired my intro to this entry. I imagine that those somewhat disorganized ideas are similar to what Murakami's journal is like.
tmp
stir-crazy sweetheart
4/3
Going crazy since waking up this morning. I've had it in my mind that I'd go see Waky (hope he doesn't read this blog..), listening to Sputnik Sweetheart on the way. Maybe I'm bored out of my mind. I know boredom is a part of it, but I'm also very stubborn and lonely. I'm nearly running without explaining anything to anyone at this point.
I'd like to escape everything. It's one of my please-let-me-disappear moods. It's so excruciating being here. I have little work, which I have little passion for, no significant artistic progress, my family doesn't get me (might think I'm lazy), my current plan is to become a librarian so I can live a simple life, I miss my boyfriend of 3 months who I broke up with 3 months ago, I'm afraid I've screwed up my metabolism with weird eating habits, and I am habitually unable to express how I truly feel.
God is here, but lately I feel judged and punished, or that I should be swallowing it all and enduring the bitterness as a learning process. To let things be terrible and lonely and discouraging for now.
But I have to do something, besides sit and give myself a headache. Going to use some time thinking of key aspects I want in someone.
1. same core values and beliefs
2. able to slowdown/okay with my pace of life
3. able to give me space when I need it
4. curious about my art (it's too much to expect them to love it best of all art they've seen, but they should love it for how it represents me.)
Lydia talked to me today about a Socratic discussion on a trial of a person being released from prison. She gave arguments of whether to trust the person from relapsing, whether they can truly change. On the persecution, she agreed that relapse destroys all progress. I couldn't help but relate it some way to my current relapse. I argued that it didn't destroy all progress, there's still things that change. But I guess, the specific progress you were striving for is ruined.
Now I'm listening to Sputnik Sweetheart - it had been returned sooner than expected, and I'm grateful. I find it hard to enjoy any other writing besides Murakami lately. Although I would appreciate some more Salinger. In SS, I'm finding I relate terribly to both the narrator's distant view of reality and much of Sumire's pursuits and problems. Except, I don't have a Miu, or a 3am phone call friend.
tmp
Going crazy since waking up this morning. I've had it in my mind that I'd go see Waky (hope he doesn't read this blog..), listening to Sputnik Sweetheart on the way. Maybe I'm bored out of my mind. I know boredom is a part of it, but I'm also very stubborn and lonely. I'm nearly running without explaining anything to anyone at this point.
I'd like to escape everything. It's one of my please-let-me-disappear moods. It's so excruciating being here. I have little work, which I have little passion for, no significant artistic progress, my family doesn't get me (might think I'm lazy), my current plan is to become a librarian so I can live a simple life, I miss my boyfriend of 3 months who I broke up with 3 months ago, I'm afraid I've screwed up my metabolism with weird eating habits, and I am habitually unable to express how I truly feel.
God is here, but lately I feel judged and punished, or that I should be swallowing it all and enduring the bitterness as a learning process. To let things be terrible and lonely and discouraging for now.
But I have to do something, besides sit and give myself a headache. Going to use some time thinking of key aspects I want in someone.
1. same core values and beliefs
2. able to slowdown/okay with my pace of life
3. able to give me space when I need it
4. curious about my art (it's too much to expect them to love it best of all art they've seen, but they should love it for how it represents me.)
Lydia talked to me today about a Socratic discussion on a trial of a person being released from prison. She gave arguments of whether to trust the person from relapsing, whether they can truly change. On the persecution, she agreed that relapse destroys all progress. I couldn't help but relate it some way to my current relapse. I argued that it didn't destroy all progress, there's still things that change. But I guess, the specific progress you were striving for is ruined.
Now I'm listening to Sputnik Sweetheart - it had been returned sooner than expected, and I'm grateful. I find it hard to enjoy any other writing besides Murakami lately. Although I would appreciate some more Salinger. In SS, I'm finding I relate terribly to both the narrator's distant view of reality and much of Sumire's pursuits and problems. Except, I don't have a Miu, or a 3am phone call friend.
tmp
furnace (unfinished), Bordeaux boyfriend
3/29
Explosive internal nervousness & anxiety, and a lump of emotion in my throat that feels like jumping out if I start talking about what I want it to be like. If it does I'll melt away in tears, acidic with my ungratefulness.
My slow pace is both keeping it down and helping it swell, absorbing every minute I waste, every calorie I allow myself to swallow. It is not really me feeding it - rather, the often-ignored, home-ridden girl who reaches out desperately for any passing judgments, not-quite-rights, floating fears. Some she uses to kindle the explosive hearth, some she allows to escape, some she feeds to the swollen thing. Process is black-dust and staining, her whole body like a charcoal figure chiaroscuro. She grinds shadows whole for her meals, so her whole self is coated, filled.
No one saw her.
Walking past normally nothing could be seen, darkness
Smoke around, trailing, whispering life, but nothing alive
Some one saw her
So blinding in purity, washed everything over with light
3/30
Had another romantic dream last night.
I was on a roadtrip to a convention with this black-haired boy.
He was driving a truck - it was one of those frieght trucks. I had already fallen for him, he was unlike anyone else - I felt like he was me ( which is technically true) He was well-read. I asked him what he thought about Bordeaux (in this reality I'd been obsessed with an author named John Bordeaux - possibly thinking of bordeaux chocolate) He said he didn't care for him, and I threw up my hands in distress - but was happy he at least knew who I was talking about. We arrived at the convention, but there was a pandemic going on here too, so it was very empty. What's odd is there was another event happening in the same facility that was like a birthday and much more festive than ours. Our food was terribly gross looking and all brown, while they had a colorful buffet. I think this was inspired by The Office-style humor.
Dreaming about love can put me in a mood, and I guess it kind of did. At least, I kept thinking about this new imaginary boyfriend throughout the day.
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work, new work
3/28
Partly wish I could just continue in this schedule - no teaching, just all projects and blogging. I only have a little over a month left though, and I do need to get a part time job after that. My efforts to find one have been greatly slowed, since I have been doubting that many places are actually hiring how, besides Amazon and grocery stores. I applied to Trader Joe's today, since most of their locations are looking for temp crew members. First, I drove over at 12pm to try dropping off my resume, but there was a terribly long line to San Antonio blvd., so I went back home. I retried at about 2pm, but it was the same length. But this time I got out anyways and walked directly to an employee and asked to see the manager. She directed me inside to a man with glasses, and I promptly asked him if they were hiring. He said they no longer accept physical resumes, and I'd have to apply online. So my adventure ended, and I left my printer paper resume in my car. I applied to 2 locations when I got home, happy to not be waiting in a physical line, though I'm sure I'm in a digital one of applicants.
I've been thinking thoroughly about my 'bible' project again. Yesterday, I tried searching for places to submit my manuscript, but no press seemed to suit my work. I realized I'd have to try self-publishing, and re-do the Old Testament to make it cohesive. Talking to my dad helped me verbalize my plans. I'll have to figure out publicity & marketing eventually, but for now I decided to focus on refining what I have. In my devotion time this morning I read a verse on working - "not for man, but as for the Lord" and I think that motivated me all day. After all, human opinion is biased, fleeting, and unsatisfying, but knowing that God of the universe is proud of you, truly, is always rewarding. Of course you also have to be able to acknowledge it yourself. That's often the most difficult part - letting go of pride and seeing yourself & your work as God does.
tmp
Partly wish I could just continue in this schedule - no teaching, just all projects and blogging. I only have a little over a month left though, and I do need to get a part time job after that. My efforts to find one have been greatly slowed, since I have been doubting that many places are actually hiring how, besides Amazon and grocery stores. I applied to Trader Joe's today, since most of their locations are looking for temp crew members. First, I drove over at 12pm to try dropping off my resume, but there was a terribly long line to San Antonio blvd., so I went back home. I retried at about 2pm, but it was the same length. But this time I got out anyways and walked directly to an employee and asked to see the manager. She directed me inside to a man with glasses, and I promptly asked him if they were hiring. He said they no longer accept physical resumes, and I'd have to apply online. So my adventure ended, and I left my printer paper resume in my car. I applied to 2 locations when I got home, happy to not be waiting in a physical line, though I'm sure I'm in a digital one of applicants.
I've been thinking thoroughly about my 'bible' project again. Yesterday, I tried searching for places to submit my manuscript, but no press seemed to suit my work. I realized I'd have to try self-publishing, and re-do the Old Testament to make it cohesive. Talking to my dad helped me verbalize my plans. I'll have to figure out publicity & marketing eventually, but for now I decided to focus on refining what I have. In my devotion time this morning I read a verse on working - "not for man, but as for the Lord" and I think that motivated me all day. After all, human opinion is biased, fleeting, and unsatisfying, but knowing that God of the universe is proud of you, truly, is always rewarding. Of course you also have to be able to acknowledge it yourself. That's often the most difficult part - letting go of pride and seeing yourself & your work as God does.
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