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poopamatrolpolis
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Ezoic
2001-12-25 07:18:55 (UTC)

the night

A lot of things upset me, things that I don't verbalize to
myself. I'm not sure why I don't talk about them more:
maybe I'm too embarrassed to reveal them to other people,
maybe I'm too embarrassed to say them aloud and hear the
thoughts come out of my mouth, maybe I'm too lazy to
confront them. Either way, they are still there. I'm not
sure if confronting them is the truly proper thing to do.
In my mind, I'll tackle them, they will submit, then I'll
move on and progress, overcome more difficult obstacles,
perpetually striving for some pinnacle of "goodliness" or
whatever. But I'm not so sure it works that way--what's to
say that one thing I'll face about myself and the way I'm
seeing things will be more challenging to overcome than
another? And who determined the concrete absolute, "if-I-
confront-it, I'll-overcome-it"?
Maybe this will result in nothing, maybe it's all
meaningless anyway, but I may as well start digging. I
have nothing else to do.
Meaning. I guess that's a thought that's always puzzled me
and given me a lot of grief. Everything that I ever did
was "for" something. I always had an objective in mind,
for example, I practiced to get better chops so I could
play more complex pieces, I painted a lot so that I could
get used to the feel of a pallet knife and how it
interacted with oil paint, and so on. It was unavoidable
though: in my search for an objective for daily routines, I
began to become a big-picture person. It started with
college and deadlines. Then it moved on to my major. And
then to what a degree in studio arts could possibly get me
as far as a job could go. Then to what I'm going to do
next year if I study in rome for the full year, away from
home, away from him. Then I jsut got overwhelmed with life
in general: my cynical speculations really began to
flourish, thinking about getting a job I'll probably end up
hating because I'll be creatively stifled, having to live
in a routine, having to live up to grown-up expectations,
living awhile, eventually dying... What am I working for?
Is there anything that is worth.. anything?
Sometimes my boyfriend suggests that I enjoy my life
presently... I should enjoy the time I have with him
because it's time that I have with him, and it's special.
I should try to enjoy the times I'm alone, jsut listening
to good music, or eating good food, or just being relaxed.
I don't know about that. I want to be able to do it, but
right now I'm just so frustrated and fed up with the
prospect of life that I'd rather just throw my hands up in
the air and cry. Sometimes being with him doesn't help
me. i don't know what to do with myself. I'm so angry all
the time. I feel shortchanged whenever I think about how
the prospect of life thrilled me, especially after reading
portrait of the artist, I couldn't wait until I could break
out of my small town and my small life and get some
excitement, get some knowledge, create something beautiful
and meaningful and perfect in my art. But the only thing
that came out were these drawings and paintings that had a
grotesque aftertaste. No one liked them, they were labeled
as "scary" or "weird". I don't know, I don't think I was
aiming particularly for something socially-accepted as
beautiful, it's jsut that I don't see beauty that much, and
I'm desperately scrambling to try to find some scrap of it.
I found a lot of it in him when we first started dating.
Particularly when I found myself really starting to love
him, or at least develop this obsessive artist-voyeur love
for him. I had such a pure kind of love for him, being in
it was so wretching, because I knew that he felt absolutely
nothing for me but at the same time was dying for some kind
of acknowledgement. As we grew to be close friends, I
would cry while talking to him.. and he didn't even know
it.. because I loved him so much. I thought about him all
the time, thought about how innocently I cared about him
because he was one of the first people I met at school who
I didn't feel threatened by. I don't know, during the end
of the school year, I just felt so happy, so complete, I
remember the specific moment when I realized that there was
nothing else that i really wanted. I had him, we had each
other every day, every night, the weather was beautiful,
the class was easy. I really lived every moment, really,
for that term, time didn't exist (excpet for the few times
i would think about what the future--the summer--held). I
missed that a lot this semester. He's in Pittsburgh right
now, he just told me he wants to go to bed, he wants me to
call him. I wish we were going to be together in the same
bed.


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