Slug
So my knee's still all wonky and I'm giving it another night's rest, and so I'm sitting here like a lump trying to solve some of the meaning of the universe. But instead my mind is flitting to the televsion and stupid websites. I am exchanging profundity for docile entertainment. I feel the need to accomplish something, but I don't know what. The air outside is heavy and hot, a physical manifestation of the oppression of my current limbo. I don't really know how I got to this point in my life. I had dinner at my Dad's tonight. I lived in his house only two years ago, but I can barely remember the experience of it. I have the same experience when I go to 521, whose crevices I used to know so intimately. How is life passing by so quickly, and why can't I seem to make anything stick. Everything is overwrought with neurotic decision making in the present, but it all just ends up a vague memory when it's past. Everything is sliding past like the jello with hard bits of fruit in it. And I'm losing my head again.
posted by April @ 7:44 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
I don't know if it makes you feel any better, but I know how you feel. It's that itch that I've talked about combined with the feeling that maybe you have just been stuck into someone else's life and tricked into thinking it's your own. When I feel like that, I try to comfort myself by telling myself that it is my artistic soul that causes me to constantly feel as though I am living outside the reality I've been given.
And it is weird to go back to previous homes, isn't it? Having someplace that was so familiar become foreign is really weird. Spending the night at my parents house now is really strange. I usually have trouble sleeping because of the odd mix of the familiar and the foreign.
Hang it there; it may get better, or it may get worse; all you can do is try your best to rise above it.
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