unpublished, unedited. (05)

i've been meaning to write, but on some days the state of mind i'm in does not permit it. on the days where i'm exhausted, i try not to write, because i begin to feel false feelings of stress and sadness caused by the lack of sleep.

however, i did just take a four hour nap, which has been way more than overdue.

lover and i move into our new place on friday, and i think i'm so excited that i have to force myself to not be excited, or else i'll start i will find it even more difficult to sleep at night! everyone else of course rolls their eyes in horror when i tell them we've chosen the 2nd story unit, but frankly, i'd rather be the one

(This was written on 5/27/09.)

unpublished, unedited. (04)

i hate to lie, but i had been asked to. throughout my explanation which seemed to last for hours, i began to wish that everyone simply told the truth. and as that thought began to manifest itself deeper, it was instantly cut off by the realization that the world would fall apart if the truth was ever told.

children would be moved to tears by the truth that there never was a santa claus, relationships founded upon lies would shatter, the line between criminals and politicians would be severely blurred. sheer panic would ensue upon revealing the truth of what the government has known all along about nuclear warfare, aliens, and september 11th. it would save the lives of many, but claim the lives of most.

(This was written on 4/22/09.)

unpublished, unedited. (03)

i feel very small when i venture out. i forget that there is a world outside of my window. at times i forget that anyone can even see me it all, so i sometimes think out loud and watch people as though they can't see me.

i've been awfully impatient since i haven't heard from my employer, if i can call them that. i never feel that it is official that i'm employed until i'm walking to my car after the first day. and then, once i get my paycheck.

(This was written on 10/29/08.)

unpublished, unedited. (02)

i'm discouraged by the way my mind deciphers fear. my mind is so conscious of dangers and disappointments. it will not let me pretend that the sinking feeling in my stomach does not exist. in the past week i've felt so many emotional extremes of happiness and sadness that i'm now almost entirely conscious of every thought i have. my mind doesn't wander very far, because i find it even when




(This was written on 7/16/08.)

unpublished, unedited. (01)

i suppose i suddenly imagined my struggles as a sea. while barely being able to stay afloat the water, i found fear in not knowing how soon i would tire from the waves moving me away from what i was pursuing. what could prevent me from drowning in such a beautiful thing? in the midst of fighting to survive, the rules had suddenly changed. just as i was barely able to tread water any longer, i was suddenly asked to climb the sea.

-- an impossible thought. i would have to teach my mind to adjust to an idea that seems purely unthinkable. i'm being asked to survive, and i don't know how.

(This was written on 7/1/08.)

c’est la vie.

i want to talk about realistic writing expectations, and how i don’t have any. i bite off more than i can chew, or adversely find underwhelming writing tasks to pursue. i edit, re-edit, and edit again just to be able to type a paragraph now, and by the time i'm ready to publish, i feel drained. i need to come back down to earth.

which leads me to a very strange announcement: i decided i’m writing a book. i know that doesn’t seem to add up at all, does it? but i really am writing a book, and i am not going to get excited about it. i’m actually giddy about it, to be honest. but if i get excited, i’ll love it too much, and the love will rush it and smother it to death. i need to work slowly. i need to put all of my thoughts back together again. i have to relive so much of my life to write these pages. i cannot hold myself to expectations or deadlines. if this takes me years to write, then c’est la vie. it will simply be done whenever i finish it.

so maybe i shouldn’t call it a book? maybe i should call it a creative writing project. whatever it should be called, it’s happening. and it isn’t being typed either! it’s already begun in notebooks that are scattered around my room (which may prove to be a fatal mistake later). but it’s better to write on paper for now at least, because when i type, it’s too tempting to hit the backspace.

so what is the book about?

love.

sometimes i still need you.

i’ve been trying to write, but nothing will come out.

my fingers touch the keys, and usually form no more than two sentences before i stop again in attempt to recollect my thoughts. my words have failed me at even the most simple of writing tasks. even now, i’ve been staring at a blog comment window, trying to type a response to a friend and my fingers won’t move. i don’t usually realize that i’ve stopped writing; that my mind has gone vacant at all until i suddenly come back down to earth, and realize that all i had been doing over the past 5 minutes was pick the grey nail polish from my fingernails.

i write a paragraph and stop cold. i’ve been staring at the cursor blinking for 4 minutes. how is it that i’ve got so much to say, and nothing at all? i recently started thinking about how easy it was to write when i was in love. i had so many thoughts then. i would hate to find that i can’t write while out of love, but i know it really just isn’t the same. before i fell in love, i could write so easily. i don’t understand why it can’t be that way again. i told someone that i’ve felt so happy and liberated since i’ve moved to Portland, but still feel a lingering sadness from losing him that doesn’t seem to be going away. she told me that maybe this will be my new normal. maybe i need to accept that i’ll always be somewhat wounded now, and that the things that happened to me will still have an affect on my life, even if it is only in the smallest of ways. but i wish it wouldn’t have taken away my writing, and my ability to focus when i read. i can read chapters of a book now, and not be able to tell you what i had just read if you had asked me.

i know moving was right. i know this is where i want to be. i know that i’m home now. but deep down, i know why this is happening. i know why this day has turned out this way. it was because the first thing i thought of when i opened my eyes this morning was you.

 

“she closes her eyes in ecstasy, but he’s tattooed his face across her eyelids.”