Pish posh
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2001-11-07 18:26:02 (UTC)

Books and paper and mess crawling from the floor and up my desk

Today is necessarily a bad day. I feel dehydrated, sucked
dry, besides which, my room is a mess. The inside of my
nose burns when i stretch my face and the coursing blood
just under the surface of my skin irks to burst out and
spread across my face out of the cavern of my nose. And,
like I said, my room is mess. I don't feel like leaving it
though, I want to hole up forever, away from people and
analyze Eliot and finish reading Wit and think only of the
homework I want to. The mess distracts me, it edges out the
peace of my brain and reminds me of everything I have to
do. Rabbit, Run sits mockingly on top of my bookshelp and me...I'm overdue. And I want to. I want to
sit in my own intellectual paradise, independant of the
rest of the world. The mess draws me back into this dorm
life, though, and if I bother cleaning up, who knows what
mood I'll end with. Eventually Danny will come back and
want to see me, and although I'll want to see him, I won't
at the moment he's actually here and available. I'm just
persnickity and crabby. I'm on the verge of mellow, but
just on the outside, the in-between place, which is not
neutral, but rather the spot on which the forces are
greatest, each pulling in a different direction, but none
negating any other.
I still marvel in the soft beauty of my Eliot drawing. In
it, there is a boat with its "red sails/wide/to leeward"
and on the left side of it is a person, hair blowing back
into the wind, a person "who turns the wheel and look to
windward," a trusting fool who has no idea where he is
taking himself.
Sort of like me. I have no idea where I'm going. But at
least I'm trying to look through the fog and storms and
into the bright sunlight to see where I'll end up. I don't
think I'm trying to steer either. We'll see.