"feeling unappealing"
Oct. 28th, 2004 11:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omnia_mutanturi always hope that when i turn on my work computer in the morning, i'll have missives awaiting me. and sometimes i do, and sometimes i don't. today's a don't, so i'll be writing lj entries and sending emails of my own, of various sizes. I'm tweaking this emailing in hopes that it'll take and the text will wrap appropriately.
i think i've always been hungry for words. and it used to be i could get my fix from books, because i didn't know there were other ways. and then i wrote, massive notes and journals with pickable locks and bad derivative adolescent poetry and the beginnings of cheesy fantasy novels. and then i got to college and discovered the wide world of anonymous strangers, and alt.goth, and electronic correspondents, and my own prototype of lj, group (spam) emails sent to a bunch of my friends, just sort of talking about the world. and then post college, there were emails and books and various types of drama and for a while, more bad poetry, and long distance boyfriends to talk on the phone with, and various websites and livejournal.
i think there's a horror story somewhere out there with something with an insatiable hunger for words. and the idea of insatiability, taken to its extreme, terrifies me. i'm comfortable giving up the idea of content, i'm not sure it's 100% applicable to the life i've led, and the life that continues to live under my skin, but i still like the idea of peace as a possibility. and i think i've refined my palate, and stories are good, but interaction is better, which in the end, probably just leaves me hungrier.
light says something about being curious about the inside of my head, and i'm fascinated by the idea of not thinking all the time. pretty much the only times i'm not thinking are good movies, sex, head-scritches, drinking and, of course, smoking. funny what absorbs me, i guess. but the rest of the time, i'm tracing the connections, and trying to make sure i've got all the options covered in the chess game that is my life, and i'm keeping track of all the things i'm not saying, and making sure that i'm still not saying them. and he mentioned something about having things go on in the background of his head.
which, as i told him, bears out a lot of my theories. i couldn't afford to have a background, name your reason, crazy emotionally dangerous parents or because the background is where all the self-injury/self-loathing/suicidal impulses live and the only way to stay vigilant against them is to pull them into the light and watch them, like when i was little kid and would stay up
all night to make sure that the thing in my closet wouldn't get out and set me on fire, 'cause he could only get out if i stopped looking.
light and i talk less now than we did before we lived together. this is probably just a function of the living together, more time spent with each other equals less things we have to tell each other, since we're experiencing the same things at the same time.
sometimes, i forget Light is divorced. Which sounds silly, but is true. I remember he once was married, i just forget that the concept divorced adds this little layer of impenetrable bitterness. and every time i encounter it, it's like accidentally biting into a pill you're supposed to swallow whole, and bitter chalkiness coats my tongue and lingers.
and it's not the conversations about marriage, or the un-conversations, those seem simpler. i think i want, he knows he doesn't, and i need to figure out how to let go of the wanting, because it is, at best, inappropriate. it's other things, and the wall that the answer "my wife left me" throws up isn't the kind of wall i'm inclined to try and scale. as a general rule, i don't take losing bets, or go up against impossible odds. i'm more about fighting the battles i have a chance at winning.
but on the other hand, i'm in love with improbably clarity of fall colors, and the bits of the eclipse i saw, and the smell of yankee candle's 'harvest' scent, and my kitten curling up under the covers with me, or the curl of her tongue when she yawns. and i find myself making sure i add something positive at some point in all my journal entries, because i'm afraid of falling into a pit of whining. i fear enough that i'm That Girl, in so many different ways, that i don't want to be her in this one. richard shindell sang all my favorites last night (Waist Deep, Happy Now, There Goes Mavis, Transit) and i've got the brandy new EFO cd in my discman, and a pizza-and-crossword date with history tonight.
i think i've always been hungry for words. and it used to be i could get my fix from books, because i didn't know there were other ways. and then i wrote, massive notes and journals with pickable locks and bad derivative adolescent poetry and the beginnings of cheesy fantasy novels. and then i got to college and discovered the wide world of anonymous strangers, and alt.goth, and electronic correspondents, and my own prototype of lj, group (spam) emails sent to a bunch of my friends, just sort of talking about the world. and then post college, there were emails and books and various types of drama and for a while, more bad poetry, and long distance boyfriends to talk on the phone with, and various websites and livejournal.
i think there's a horror story somewhere out there with something with an insatiable hunger for words. and the idea of insatiability, taken to its extreme, terrifies me. i'm comfortable giving up the idea of content, i'm not sure it's 100% applicable to the life i've led, and the life that continues to live under my skin, but i still like the idea of peace as a possibility. and i think i've refined my palate, and stories are good, but interaction is better, which in the end, probably just leaves me hungrier.
light says something about being curious about the inside of my head, and i'm fascinated by the idea of not thinking all the time. pretty much the only times i'm not thinking are good movies, sex, head-scritches, drinking and, of course, smoking. funny what absorbs me, i guess. but the rest of the time, i'm tracing the connections, and trying to make sure i've got all the options covered in the chess game that is my life, and i'm keeping track of all the things i'm not saying, and making sure that i'm still not saying them. and he mentioned something about having things go on in the background of his head.
which, as i told him, bears out a lot of my theories. i couldn't afford to have a background, name your reason, crazy emotionally dangerous parents or because the background is where all the self-injury/self-loathing/suicidal impulses live and the only way to stay vigilant against them is to pull them into the light and watch them, like when i was little kid and would stay up
all night to make sure that the thing in my closet wouldn't get out and set me on fire, 'cause he could only get out if i stopped looking.
light and i talk less now than we did before we lived together. this is probably just a function of the living together, more time spent with each other equals less things we have to tell each other, since we're experiencing the same things at the same time.
sometimes, i forget Light is divorced. Which sounds silly, but is true. I remember he once was married, i just forget that the concept divorced adds this little layer of impenetrable bitterness. and every time i encounter it, it's like accidentally biting into a pill you're supposed to swallow whole, and bitter chalkiness coats my tongue and lingers.
and it's not the conversations about marriage, or the un-conversations, those seem simpler. i think i want, he knows he doesn't, and i need to figure out how to let go of the wanting, because it is, at best, inappropriate. it's other things, and the wall that the answer "my wife left me" throws up isn't the kind of wall i'm inclined to try and scale. as a general rule, i don't take losing bets, or go up against impossible odds. i'm more about fighting the battles i have a chance at winning.
but on the other hand, i'm in love with improbably clarity of fall colors, and the bits of the eclipse i saw, and the smell of yankee candle's 'harvest' scent, and my kitten curling up under the covers with me, or the curl of her tongue when she yawns. and i find myself making sure i add something positive at some point in all my journal entries, because i'm afraid of falling into a pit of whining. i fear enough that i'm That Girl, in so many different ways, that i don't want to be her in this one. richard shindell sang all my favorites last night (Waist Deep, Happy Now, There Goes Mavis, Transit) and i've got the brandy new EFO cd in my discman, and a pizza-and-crossword date with history tonight.
