Words vs. Pictures museum

Some disjointed 3 am thoughts.

So I've been thinking (read, brooding) on the use of words, just how many I use as my days wax and wane... And somehow they never seem to really help anything.

I've been thinking that instead of using words as a bridge to further my path, I instead weave them around me until they wall me in several feet deep.

I once read a story about Mozart as a child, where his father said that he didn't see, but was not blind - everything simply came to him through his ears. I feel like that sometimes - I don't experience things, I simply absorb through words, voice and pictures.

I'm starting to see rather alarming paralells between myself and my mother. I'm afraid that if I don't do something about it soon, I'm going to end up just like her, fairly agoraphobic, walled up in a dark house with all the windows tightly shuttered, never leaving except to other havens of family, only letting my own frustrations with life eat away at me until my life imitates my art and my own body literally starts eating away at me in the forms of various weird cancers.

I really need to learn to drive, I'm so trapped by my inability to do so. Of course there's the problem of not having a car to actually drive once the license is procured, but never mind.

I hate emotional paralysis.

I don't much like chronic depression either.

chocolate is bad in excess.

I think I'm done with the delicately pale, introspective geekboys for now. Three is quite enough to burn candles for. One is still my best friend, one is utterly lost until whatever day he wants to be found again (and that's always been the way, even when I used to see him almost every day), the last... here's hoping he doesn't get himself killed. I mean really. a) I've got a relationship, how greedy can I get? b) *sigh* fuck it. I'm not the sort of gal they download vids of off the internet and wank to. And I'm never gonna be. Someone once told me to do them a favor, curl up next to sundart, pull her close enough to me that I can feel her skin and smell her hair, and just hold her...

Maybe true happiness is not a realistic goal for me.

Another frustration of not being vehicularly mobile - can't indulge the urge to just take to the road and drive in the middle of the night. Somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it's just the huge 24 hour KMart in Meriden CT. Or the waterfront in New Haven, watching the sun rise. (need to go to New Haven at some point anyways, pick up new copies of my birth certificate.) Or maybe I'll wind up like Forrest gump and just keep going and going and going until there's nowhere left to go, because the longer you go, the longer it will take to get back home so you just might as well keep going. Fitting metaphor for someone whose primary mode of dealing is running as hard and as far away as possible.

How soon is now?

I don't want to stay in the house. I don't want to go outside. No happy in between state, except the dead, dreamless sleep of the discontent.

I'm tired of my own words. I'm tired of talking just for the sake of hearing myself talk. I've been tired of it for a long ass while. And I'm tired of waiting for other's words to drift by me, to entertain me, motivate me, jumpstart my engine. I need to escape my own head before I trap myself in it. It's not too late.

peeper frogs are loud little buggers.

I need a shower.

I need school to be over one way or another.



Excuse me, I must going now. I'll be back when something actually exciting happens.

Mine

Perhaps this is what writers are destined to do, dig the diamond mines of their lives, sifting through layers of grime, and dirt, the cramped conditions, the lack of air, the moldy reek of earth, all to dig out some small nugget of pure rapturous beauty that they can then cut and polish and bring out the natural brilliance. We are miner and jeweler wrapped in one identity, and our pickax, cutter and polisher are pen and paper and keyboard.

I should be working. Instead I sit in Seelye lab, methodically deleting bits of the past and crying inside...

A fatal exception 0E has occurred...

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Better. Amazing, that.

To do list for my life, post gradjimatation:

• Learn to drive. Take off on a long ass car trip with a Nomad full of road tunes.
  
• Learn to drive stick. Take that however you will. ;)
  
• Go to Russia. Especially Piter. ;) I mean, I could go to Moscow, and probably will, just so harinezumi can give me the grand tour, but that's so touristy. I mean... onion domes. I can see myself being very oooooooooooh. OK. Next?
  
• Get published. Of course, that means I have to write or start taking photographs for real. Of course that requires a Real Actual Camera.
  
• Set up some sort of ridiculously elaborate luxurious play space. I'm thinking lots of wrought iron, satin, velvet, jewel tones...
  
• Learn to contact juggle, belly dance, DJ, and sing. For real.
  
• grow a huge motherfucking purple coleus from a small cutting. Also an aloe plant, and some strawberries.
  
• hang out in the the extreme north in winter, reveling in endless night.
  
  
• Still waffling about the eventuality of rugrats, but we'll see how far I get in the above list before I settle down and figure it out for real.

In other news... whoa. After having a nervous breakdown in first my organ lesson, then in B4 talking to Lisa DeCarolis ("So how are you?" "WAAAAAH!") and in the Dean's office, then coming home for a much needed nap... I'm actually having a dareIsayit? productive evening. I have nearly all of tomorrow's presentation laid out, and I have most of a 2 liter of Coke at my feet due to sundart's ordering of Dominoes tonight (special deals allow three medium 1-topping pizzas for three hungry grrrlz!) and I'm... in a weirdly good mood. Getting shit done is wildly freeing. Kinda. I think I'll continue with this for a little while. The night is young, after all.

Maybe I can do this. Bizarre concept.

anyway, I'm up tonight. Keep me going with words of encouragement over IM, Trillian finally seems to be working fully. I couldn't get onto MSN messenger all week, and then it dawned on me that I'd changed my hotmail password for the first time in like YEARS last week. *facepalm* Stressed out Andee dumb. Let's smack her. Also if you know my #, feel free to call and tell me I can make it through this. I think the more people tell me this, the more I'm likely to believe it.

mmm. a little more caffeine, maybe either throw on either a background noise movie or some music to fill up the about-to-be-empty house (beatgoddess is on her way out, and sundart's already down for the night), and settle in to do more work. :)

Surreal

Just for poops and hahas, I checked what I was doing this time last year.

We moved in here a year ago today. At almost this very moment, one year ago, I was actually posting about how exhausted and triumphant we all were. And I was sneezing. *sigh* Oh boy. Allergy season. Fun. I had to cave in and take loratadine today. friggin tree sperm, dust and cat hair. Bash it all.