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2018-08-26 22:41:18 (UTC)


"Me and my Husband" by Mitski

I steal a few breaths from the world for a minute
And then I'll be nothing forever
And all of my memories
And all of the things I have seen will be gone
With my eyes with my body with me
But me and my husband
We are doing better
It's always been just him and me
So I bet all I have on that
Furrowed brow
And at least in this lifetime
We're sticking together

August 26, 2018 Sunday 10:43 PM

I didn't even realize I'd written today. This day has only been 11 hours long for me but I just—missed it all. In an okay way. It was a dull day, as far as my days go. I slept 12 hours and this made me grumpy; skipped coffee to avoid insomnia tonight, so I've been sleepy all day; was so bored by half past two that I went to the gym early. And then I got frustrated when I realized my shin splints were coming back, which meant that I wouldn't be able to run with my normal intensity unless I wanted to make the pain worse. I spent more time lifting some weights and doing planks and that kind of thing. Still feel really disappointed (a bit physically frustrated) though, that I couldn't run as long as I normally do. Been doing calf-raises all day and I've been icing my shin for around 45 minutes (both things are supposed to help the 'splints). Brings back memories of track.

I cut my thumb crotch on a tomato can while I was cooking dinner on Friday night, and I've been preoccupied with the injury since. At first, I was annoyed that it might interfere with work out stuff (like gripping the weights), and it was super irritating to wash the dishes while trying not to bleed. Plus sometimes I extend my hand it is like my thumb is budding off from the rest of my body. Huge exaggeration, but still a lovely if not kind of grotesque thought. Today it doesn't hurt much but I keep flexing my hand to the limit to feel it hurt. I like controlled pain a lot. When I stretch my palm, the little wound stretches open too, and I can see layers of dermis cleaved open. It gets redder as you go down. The edges of the slit have already been sewn up with sleep and I've only got this wrinkly old-person mouth injury. I wanna just hack myself apart.

This day has been so confusing. I don't know what hours are. Or dark. I laid in bed reading for a while in the evening and I developed this bad taste in my mouth, the afternap flavor. Also I feel less sleepy now. Which annoys me! I just want to sleep and get up early.

Writing has also been frustrating. It comes out but not gracefully. I'm really not inspired, mostly doubtful. I wrote over a page—either yesterday or the day before or maybe even earlier today. I can't tell. Since worked ended I don't have to keep track of time, which from experience I realize is a quick way for me to fall into bad and sad-making routines—but I kinda can't resist. It's ok, the routine'll be back on Wednesday.

I am content being alone. I want to be alone forever. Mildly bored and alone. That is what feels good to me. Everything else makes me tired and nervous.

Wonder what it's like to be married, and have a partner in life. I think about my parents, and they don't have what I would call a good or particularly loving relationship. But sometimes they sit together and kiss, and sometimes they come home with little gestures of care. That's kind of nice. That's what it's supposed to be, right? Not passionate love, strictly, but just—security. If it weren't for my mom's constant unhappiness, I'd probably like their relationship a lot. As it is, it's not really my dad's fault she's unhappy. Mama is just like that. She does not help herself, or care for herself. We have that in common sometimes, but I don't know if I want to be that way.

For awhile, it seemed to safest way to exist but now—it kind of threatens the longevity of my relationships. Lancelot said I shouldn't judge myself so hard for having developed a lot of the mechanisms I did. He said I was just trying to survive where I was with what I had. I like that he is not particularly judgmental of anyone in this situation: not me and not my parents. The gist of his thoughts towards my parents are that they are good and lovely people, but they lacked in some areas of childcare. And for me he says I was a really bright kid who didn't know how to channel her thoughts and feelings, and didn't have anyone to learn those habits from.

He calls me bright quite a bit which is always a little shocking to me. My instinct is to resist it, lol. I am used to being all—no, no, I'm not bright. I don't even want to say I'm bright relative to the student population in my home town (some of my fellow students at Brown say this and it kind of irritates me because I know what that means—it's fake-humble, deflection of a compliment because otherwise you feel pity for the people who... aren't you? I dunno, the feelings I have in relation to this subject are kind of murky; haven't thought about it enough to write clearly). That feels like a slight to all the kids back home. But more realistically I probably was brighter than lots of the students back home, at least in some ways. In, like, math or chem? Nah. Definitely not. But in English and Art and all those ~fanciful~ areas? Ya.

It's weird to acknowledge that I actually am smart. Maybe I'm used to thinking that "smart" wasn't good enough. If I was going to be anything, I wanted to be a genius, and obviously lol that is eternally out of my reach.

I dunno. My thoughts feel very confused right now. And I feel old. Either I feel really young and blind, or I feel really old and blind. Young seems to be a thing I get when I'm depressed. Now I'm okay. I don't really feel I've gotten much wiser over the summer except in really small ways: like getting used to my alcohol tolerance, and better managing my income. That kind of stupid tiny Life wisdom. Which I find both adorable and confusing in that most of every day is taken up by these things, and most of the mind is too, and, just—it is so, so, so, so small. All of it, small. If I'm not falling apart I am just kind of amused at the absurdity of being normal; like I'm role-playing. I don't know if I'm just too privileged to see it as real or what. I don't think this even makes any sense. Everything in the head is decaying very fast, too fast to be tied together.

Old. Which means nothing coming from a 19 yr old, like as much as it meant when I said it last year or the year before. It's a peculiar feeling. Hand-on-the-rope-as-it's-being-pulled-through-your-grip kind of feeling. Like you feel it going but you don't have time to figure out what "going" even means.

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