FIN.
It's quiet, and I'm thinking about sleep, half-believing that I will soon ready myself for it, half-believing that more hours will pass in this state until I can no longer go to it as I would an altar but will rather get dragged there, a prisoner. The table in front of me is covered with clean, folded laundry. Some things with holes. Some things very small.
I can feel my hairs growing. It hurts a little.
I have been compiling a list of Beatrice's words but there are too many, more every day, so that it's beginning to feel like an index of everything in the world. It makes me realize that most of the time I exist in a state of unawareness for any object that is not immediately useful to me or that does not make demands on me.
Lately I'm thinking a lot about the internet, how bad it makes me feel, and how good it makes me feel, and how it very much is in this way like a drug. What is this Facebook, anyway? How long are we supposed to stay on it? I thought about shutting it down and felt genuine fear. I'm not sure, but my guess is that this is not a good thing. I want to use the internet like my mother does. She checks her email, she reads a thing or two, she moves on with her life. I am a terrible mover-on with anything. I might argue that I do not, ever, move on. I stay. I'm a stayer. I stay around and I stay up. To a pathological degree, I can't stand endings. Sometimes I do not start a book because I know I will be loathe to finish it. Then I start it and I read it slowly. Then I put it down and look at the internet.
Because the internet never ends.
Two things: gum and the internet.
This is a solid revelation about myself and about two things I lay claim to.
If I leave a party before the party ends it means it wasn't a very good party.
If the party is good I will have grave difficulty leaving. It will not appear this way to others. It will appear to others as though I have just said a lofty goodbye and tripped on down the lane. But if the party is good I will tie it around my ankles and drag it with me for as long as I can before the rope snaps.
And when the rope snaps I will cry.
And when I cry I will enjoy it a little.
And when I'm finished crying I will feel sad.
Today I laughed so hard that a little bit came out.
I can feel my hairs growing. It hurts a little.
I have been compiling a list of Beatrice's words but there are too many, more every day, so that it's beginning to feel like an index of everything in the world. It makes me realize that most of the time I exist in a state of unawareness for any object that is not immediately useful to me or that does not make demands on me.
Lately I'm thinking a lot about the internet, how bad it makes me feel, and how good it makes me feel, and how it very much is in this way like a drug. What is this Facebook, anyway? How long are we supposed to stay on it? I thought about shutting it down and felt genuine fear. I'm not sure, but my guess is that this is not a good thing. I want to use the internet like my mother does. She checks her email, she reads a thing or two, she moves on with her life. I am a terrible mover-on with anything. I might argue that I do not, ever, move on. I stay. I'm a stayer. I stay around and I stay up. To a pathological degree, I can't stand endings. Sometimes I do not start a book because I know I will be loathe to finish it. Then I start it and I read it slowly. Then I put it down and look at the internet.
Because the internet never ends.
Two things: gum and the internet.
This is a solid revelation about myself and about two things I lay claim to.
If I leave a party before the party ends it means it wasn't a very good party.
If the party is good I will have grave difficulty leaving. It will not appear this way to others. It will appear to others as though I have just said a lofty goodbye and tripped on down the lane. But if the party is good I will tie it around my ankles and drag it with me for as long as I can before the rope snaps.
And when the rope snaps I will cry.
And when I cry I will enjoy it a little.
And when I'm finished crying I will feel sad.
Today I laughed so hard that a little bit came out.
1 Comments:
Yes. Me, too. All of it. (What are we going to do?)
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