many things by, inside, outside the door

5/18

A day of various moments lost in thought, simply imagining or remembering. And, trying to fully absorb what I felt, analyzing my reactions:

Woke up from another romantic dream. Don't recall specifics, but a man had fallen for me, and I felt it, penetrating my heart.

I received a book I ordered, 'The Lover' by Marguerite Duras, in the mail. It was recommended to me by Kay. Once again, she has hit me on the mark - I'm 1/4 way through and already captured by her writing. (Sometimes she makes me unbearably jealous of this ability. She is responsible for my Murakami obsession.) I sat for an hour or so by the open kitchen window, transforming into a teenage french girl. I felt slightly cold with wind, but didn't close the window. 

The weather was strange today. I noticed the wet pavement as I ate breakfast, then later, around 11am, it began to pour. By the time I finished teaching, it was no longer raining, but still overcast, and breezy, although not that cold.

Lydia types her ideas, and here I am, beginning everything by hand. I am similar to her in obsessively reading articles (about enneagram), which has caused me to interpret our behaviours, identifying how much we match our descriptions. Perhaps finding systems is more significant to me than I have acknowledged. Realizing I'm a 4 has opened a possibility to freedom from shame over my personality - since I often consider my emotional tendencies necessary to reduce, too much for anyone. I've been telling myself most of my internal time, "Calm down, you dramatic girl. You're crazy." Also, W saw it in me, pouring out my shining eyes. He felt it in my kiss, and my silent cries, since I never shed an actual tear in front of him. I do have some rationality, that's the 5, but I am obviously swept by irrational forces. And this collection of diaries is a testament to my description. 

Now I'm just lost what else to do with this information. And what to do with my future again. Perhaps I'll continue teaching here. As I am habitually lazy, it's very likely.  As a french girl, I most appreciate small beauties, undervalued, pleasant moments. You could almost say I'm a hedonist for them - I often feel guilty for how much I seek experiences just for the romance of them.

Meanwhile, I'm dreadfully jealous of writers, trapped in lonely places, and of musicians, trapped in themselves; both, to me, seem freed and expressed through their beautiful creations. As a Christian, I am weary to trap myself, yet I face these ideas and the glowing ghosts of my role models constantly. 

Murakami is going to host a jazz/classical radio special this week, but it's only available in Japan.

I found a lizard on the doorstep. Also a letter. I had noticed a young girl with black hair passing by by desk window, so I opened the door. First I was startled by the lizard, then by the absence of the girl. Picking up both, I smiled and showed them to my siblings. 

tmp