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Little More than a Stain in the Carpet
"Everyone's Asleep in the House but Me" by Owen
Everyone's asleep in the house but me
They've long since caved in to the promise of dreams
I'm trying to walk a straight line
but it's so hard with these crossed eyes...
Everyone's asleep while I wrestle with the heat
This aging sweat silhouette knows that the deviant in me wants to go out
I've a thirst for skirts and hell to raise
Won't someone sing into my mouth?
I'll do the same
But I'm killing time in a ghost town
Dim lights and dull sounds
This is what it's like to be dead and leave behind
little more than a stain in the carpet
February 22, 2017 Wednesday 11:16 PM
Quiet, quiet, quiet in the brain.
Earlier, like around 7:30 PM, I plopped myself onto my mom's bed with an orange highlighter and The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus – but then, I thought I saw something behind the corner of my eye, like a little brown creature, fairy-sized, hide behind one of the potted plants hanging in front of the window (I've always loved that about my parents' room—Mom set up these hanging pots in front of the two windows and there's they both hold the same plant. There are some wires n' shit that hold up the vines that go back and forth between the pots). So then, I kind of just let myself lie facedown on the bed with my eyes on the pot.
I reminded myself: hey, you know fairies aren't real right?
I was all: yeah, duh, but... y'know. Just in case.
You know you're not going to be able to fall asleep, right?
Me: Yeah, but I'm tired so let me just sit here, okay, leave me alone.
My stomach burned and I thought about how the acid from a cutie I'd consumed a bit earlier felt like it was washing back up into my trachea or whatever, and then I was like wait, but doesn't the stomach have a sphincter type thing to keep that from happening except for when you have to expel toxins from your body??? I answered my own question with an I Don't Care.
So I was just kinda laying there, being a Nothing, which was kind of a relief because I spend most of my days being something and that's, ugh. Effort.
My heart was the only thing in my body. I was pulsing. And then I guess I was asleep. My mom came back to her room and shook me awake. I guess I must've looked kind of stupid, since I was spread out on my stomach with my legs sticking out over the edge of the bed. I mumbled something about how I was supposed to be reading, and then I crawled into my actual bed and fell asleep until like an hour ago.
I had a dream about how I stole a car that had ice skates instead of wheels, and I sat cross-legged in a circle with two other cops, who held my hands. We were on the floor of the living room and the lights were off. At some point, I realized I was dreaming, but I didn't want to wake up so I just let myself go along with the hippie shit I was doing with the cops (I think it was like a weird, group therapy circle 'cause they thought I was troubled or something). At least it was better than the dream I had this morning, in which
1) some people tried to murder me
2) and then no one cared about me.
Actually, it was kind of funny that no one cared about me. I mean, it wasn't really a sad thing, is all I'm saying, because of how impermanent it all felt. Sure, it wasn't great, but at least I wasn't horribly disliked. I guess some might prefer that over the nothingness of acquaintance-hood and vague recognition by people who used to be your friends, but for me, it wasn't so bad. Then again, I experienced this in a dream. Having to deal with it in real life is another thing entirely. Where do you get your sense of impermanence then? From thinking about how your existence is temporary?
I've been thinking about existence a lot 'cause I've been reading a lot of Albert Camus. I love him.
My favorite books are the ones I just barely understand. I wonder why that is, and I wonder if this is true for other people.
I have a theory that I like the sensation of Not Knowing because then, y'know, I'm never quite sure how deep the book goes. It counteracts the shallowness of everything else. Well, not necessarily 'everything else.' But, uh. Yeah. Sometimes I just get a, "Is that all there is?" moment. I guess that's an experience of absurdity, though – looking at the patterns of everyday life and feeling a rush of futility at it all.
Maybe that is totally wrong. I don't know. I'm so tired.
Point is: many of the books I love point to something I don't totally understand. They capture a feeling or experience, or at least teach you how to find it. THis was going somewhere but I've gotten exhausted by my own circular thoughts.
SOME RECENT ADDITIONS TO THE 'WORDS I LIKE' LIST:
Am not breaking up with Isaac. I changed my mind again, as usual. Guess I don't know myself as well as I thought I did. Well, whatever. All I can really do is ride out this experience. It'll stabilize eventually. I think all the instability is my fault anyways. It always is.
Problem is, I tell Liv and Alexis pretty much everything, so I've already told them like four different times "I'm breaking up with him wait no I'm not" (ahhh, petty problems, amiright?) and I think they'd be fine with either decision except I usually talk more when it's on the 'breaking up' side of the spectrum, so they know about all my irritation with Isaac and very little about how cool he is. (Thus they may dislike him more than I am comfortable with.)
The same with this diary. Oops.
Isaac and I spoke on the phone last night and it was Pleasant with a capital P. Really, though, it was nice. He was all, "Are we back to normal?" and I didn't wanna say yes 'cause honestly probably not. Not that any of this was ever really 'normal.' It's not Abnormal. But, again. When was it very stable?
Also found out: he had a crush on me last year, even before he found out Liv and I were not lesbian lovers! Amazing. No, seriously, this amazed me. I didn't have a crush on him, but I thought he was very pretty and probably terribly sad. Both things are still pretty true.
Oh, my eyeballs are raisins, all sleepy in the face holes they are.
You know what song is good? Pulaski at Night by Andrew Bird. I think after listening to a bunch of shoegaze music for like a month
(AKA Built to Spill and 764-Hero, pretty much—weirdly enough, I didn't really listen to much Modest Mouse), I'm in the mood for something cleaner. And Andrew Bird is so smooooooth. And he looks like a bird. I think I have a tendency towards finding vaguely scruffy, older men attractive (excepting that guy from Grey's Anatomy – I've always found him really unattractive for some reason). I don't want to know if there is any sort of significant psychology behind it, but if there is, I don't want to know. Gross.
I'm going to call Isaac when I finish this. Right after I go pee. I just drank 32 oz of water, so yeah, I oughta go empty the tank. Ha.
Oh: I'm going to a concert tomorrow with Liv and Alexis. That will be cool. I will hate myself when I talk about Isaac. I know this kind of thing is normal, but I have trouble coming to terms with it anyway. Ah, whatever.
I've been thinking: I'm going to really enjoy being a young adult. But I get the vague feeling that, past thirty, I will become increasingly terrified of The Looming Death! Actually, I get kind of struck right now as it is. I was sitting on the toilet earlier and I realized, for the fiftieth time this week, that I can die at any moment.
A jet engine could fall on my house.
I could have an aneurism.
I could have some kind of freak health problem, like an infection that turns septic.
Fuck, I mean, I could have an aggressive cancer!
I could be hit by a car.
I could get in a car accident.
I could slip and hit my head.
I could get murdered or something.
The toilet could suck my guts into the sewer! (This is an old paranoia, which wAS intensified by the god damn South Park episode where this happens to Clyde's mom when he leaves the toilet seat uP)
I dunno, pretty much I am just.... I could die at any second and I wouldn't know. I mean, look what happened to Elise. She was only sixteen. Imagine if they'd gotten in the car a couple minutes earlier or later – would she still be alive?
But I guess that doesn't matter. It happened, and there's nothing to be done. There was never anything that could've been done to prevent it because all that happens is the result of other happenings, if that makes any sense. Cause and effect and cause and effect and cause and effect.
My dad says this is something like determinism. Fate.
I dunno. It's not like it's a particularly important thought, though. In the end, who cares? You live life and then you die, and all you leave is your body and your memory until both of those things kinda fall apart too.
I'm sleepy and I need to stop reading Camus.