8:45-9:05
(I hate this damn enlightenment)
Sunday night sleeplessness, the kind the bed feels like cardboard, a small stack of it. I feel my arm through layer of pillow as if it weren't there. My mind wanders to ridiculous lengths from here to there and mostly I just lay there and think about shutting off my brain. Friday and Saturday night I stay up too late to have this problem. Also, no concerns about productivity in the early morning. My mind wanders from Portland posters, signed by some famous people I've never heard of, to desert oasis. Crawl through the hot sand like oven heated tiny rocks and scabs on the body lots of scolding and scorching, as the abuse transferred from feet to hands and knees and suddenly there is a green tree and a significant body of water. Rather than allowing me to continue my brain turns blank and I don't move, simply die from be transformed into human toast. Pick at me, vultures. Take your fill.
Some misunderstanding of grandeur. I wanted a big change. I wonder why I left Portland. An apartment anywhere would have been nicer. The sunlight. The hot girls. The cold personalities. I realize I have the power to interact with anyone and everyone. I can network and market myself. The complaints I have about my life here and just dramatized versions of past complaints. Portland complaints. The way I can't seem to be understood real closely by anyone. This is greatly different because I had a handful of friends with deep history there and we could just talk and reminisce. I have new friends, save one, here. They look at my humor with disapproval. Sometimes I feel like I'm contending for my very existence in a passing conversation with a friend. This is not what a casual conversation with a friend should ever feel like. As if I don't say something important or smart I am a useless human being. These thoughts ruin pure reactions to events because I am so trapped in my head. I am tongue-tied and fuck it all up. I sometimes avoid the conversations altogether like a little girl who eats her lunch in the bathroom because she feels no sense of belonging in the ruthless cliques. I will never grow into that recluse. The type daddy loves and gives money to for make up and drugs and sex. You became the town whore because your dad was always too drunk to know if boys were over. At least the whore of the island. I dreamed of setting charges on the bridge. How would life continue? People would have to swim. But perhaps they all are rich enough to have their own personal boats therefore no outside contact and community spirit would be necessary. Those soccer boys. Those musicians. Those art school kids. The kind you want to take home to mom to make her jealous. The kind you want to persuade to do your evil bidding. You always get what you want when it comes to people but you are never satisfied. You like to leech them of their individuality but asking to open up beyond means....
I wonder how. I can change. Completely. Began with a haircut. Something symbolic of cutting my old life off. The old whores left behind. The old houses and tall green trees crashing through fences in the yard. Began with a haircut and an established jog route. Ideas in mind to work on things, to cultivate various talents with repetitious exercise. I believe this time could be spent to make myself awesome at some things. Awesome at life in general, so I can return triumphant to the Northwest. With my chest puffed out and my head held up high to the sky. A swagger. I saunter over to the tobacco shop and say 'you won't hurt me no more!' I enter the saloon and ask for a double. I lose the feeling in half of my face and crash the family car. No, no. Bad thoughts. Important story maybe.... But now it's about triumphant recovery from months of deformity through depression and deep hopeless social failure. It is about getting my life back into my hands and making up for all of that time I've lost in the last few months. Do away with the awful. Embrace something more positive and life affirming. Procrastination is a mortal enemy and I will die with projects half done.
