It’s 4am. Ho hum. I don’t sleep anymore.
My mother was feeling sorry for herself all night, making everyone miserable. I bought her a can opener to cheer her up. It worked.
I make lists in place of real self-examination. I believe that the sum of each entry in one of my lists adds up to me. I actually believe that. And their construction is not necessarily easier than real self-examination; it’s a process that makes more sense to me.
Life is good. But films make me feel more. So.
(Seriously.)
I have apartment, I have Lappy, I have internet.
Don’t quite believe it’s all working yet.
– Bwaaah la la Lauren
There’s something I’m dying to say — but for the moment, this seems to suffice:
We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,
gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.
Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:
would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.
Rilke, Archaic Torso of Apollo
(I read it over and over again, and the more I read it the surer I am it’s going to kill me.)
Back to template theme. Not good enough for original creations!
Sad.
Why do I run so hot and cold with people — why am I so quick to idolize, and so quick to judge? All my love for a person can be gone in a flash as soon as I read some shit like:
What life, including marriage, is all about is women versus men. There is a constant and, I think, a lovely war going on. Men and women are basically different. Women are the protectors– men can’t have children and don’t have the instinct for motherhood — and men protect the protectors. Men are built for adventure. It makes for unhappiness in a marriage when women don’t understand the basic differences between them and that men do need adventure.
I say that if you’re a married man you have the right to get drunk, screw around and go to the whorehouse, but not fall in love.
I’m not actually interested in even impassively exploring other human experiences and viewpoints. Everything is a litmus test with me. Really all I want is someone to mirror — and validate — my own way of thinking.
Disgusting.
But then — I’m trying to love an inveterate misogynist.
But then — that’s just my snap judgment.
So…
(As a Firefox convert, this entire domain is an embarrassment, but I’m too lazy to do a thing about it. My other domain is fully XHTML validated, though 
)
I may have so much trouble updating my blog because in the back of my mind, there are still two dozen entries I’ve been meaning to write for years.
I still want to write about that time DHS called Jessica ‘thingy.’
I’m here at Lani’s request, and out of a general sense of duty. I don’t know why I can’t blog three times a day like any normal internet user.
I diagnosed myself with a brain tumor last night, malignant, most probably fatal, and gave myself through the end of this week to live.
Well, there is something wrong with me, but I’m not going to mention it to anyone, no, I can’t afford brain surgery, and I’d rather not know. It’s just my head feels strange lately; it’s not any kind of headache, but a tightness, a heaviness, not painful but ever-present. I’m tired all the time and if I read a book in a comfortable position I’m likely to pass out by page two. But my brain feels like it’s ‘asleep’ all the time. Actually, I’ve had this sort of thing for about two years now, but it seems suddenly much worse.
Enough of my craziness — I know damn well what it is and I know what to do about it. I’m certain it’s actually malnutrition. I have every effect of anorexia, without the cause or the intent — but it amounts to the same thing. I just don’t eat, I just can’t bring myself to eat, far too much of the time. Rarely do I eat before 2pm, and then rarely do I eat more than one serving of fruits and vegetables together in a day.
Honestly, I’m a moron — I will finish this entry and then I will go find something to eat, and I’ll keep finding something to eat, and there will be no permanent brain damage or impending death. One hopes.
Right. What else? I have an apartment! The whole ordeal of finding one has been lost to this blog so why start now, but I do have an apartment, and it’s lovely, and that is actually very exciting.
And uhm… I’m a frightfully boring individual, but I have to think that when I’m in my apartment and have regained my right mind, that will all change.
Justice Sandra Day O’Connor retired.
The apocalypse is nigh.
Yeah, I’ll own it: I’m a reality TV junkie.
For the most part, I think I have pretty sophisticated — if tremendously personal — taste in entertainment. My top 100 films list has been meticulously crafted and recrafted. My CD collection can beat up your CD collection. I turn up my nose at pop radio and listen to NPR and classical; I watch BBC World news almost every night. I also have a low tolerance for human stupidity and a well-developed code of ethics.¹
(¹ lol.)
But I’ll willingly suspend all that to spend an hour or two having a good, cheap laugh at others’ expense watching Beauty and the Geek, Hit Me Baby One More Time, Welcome to the Neighborhood &c &c. Summer programming is no wasteland in this household, friends; for three months, I’m an unembarrassed lowbrow.
But the real obsession is Dancing with the Stars. How can I express my undying passion for clumsy ‘celebrities’ earnestly honing their ballroom skills? On the surface, (and possibly also in execution) it’s the lamest concept for a 6-week series in the short but glorious history of competitive reality TV. But what can I say? It taps into the part of me that worshipped Torvill & Dean for years as an adolescent and compelled me to seek out streets named after them just one year ago. It’s why I can’t condemn last year’s unimaginative Shall We Dance? I love the dance, I love celebrities, and I love DWTS!
Still, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be quite so hooked if it weren’t for the show’s breakout stud and ballroom natural: yes, Seinfeld’s J Peterman himself, John O’Hurley. Oh come on. If you don’t know my odd taste in men by now! I’m utterly charmed by him and his gorgeous Danish partner, Charlotte Jorgensen. They’re adorable, and there’s obvious warmth between them that makes them so much fun to watch. And it’s so endearing how seriously he takes it. Yes, I would have been crushed if my silver-haired twinkletoes had been offed tonight, but happily the pair will advance to next week’s final!
Vote John & Charlotte. Vote early and vote often.
So I’m in love with a celebrity dance couple. I’ve been in love with stranger things before.
Am also a huge fan of Jay Leno’s headlines — I prefer Letterman with a ferocity that is unwarranted considering my custom is to watch no late-night talk shows whatsoever; comparable, I suppose, to the very serious pop-vs-soda debate that really couldn’t possibly matter less. Headlines, though. They slay me.
A few of tonight’s highlights:
Crack quality drops in Erie
Lost: male cat. deaf. answers to Spike.
[safety tips] Do not leave strangers in your vehicle.
For sale: misc wedding equp — helmets, rods, etc.
Wanted: afterprom cmte looking for king sized mattress.
Oh holy man there is an online archive. I’ll be busy for a while.
But otherwise. I am sooo sophisticated. You know it’s true.
Somehow summer is passing with no real sense of urgency on my part, no doomed feelings of failure or optimistic plans for future accomplishment. I realize I have set quite a lot in motion this past month or so, but I’m numb to it all — static as lives bounce causing and effecting around me, some integral part but no participant.
I’m all business these days, and though my deepest fear is that I’m becoming less articulate and thought-full by the hour, I’ve become quite capable of making plans, asking the right questions, navigating unfamiliar cities, and eventually, I have no doubt, signing a lease and all that. I haven’t gotten around to finding a job, but that’s more laziness than incompetence now. Yes, I think I could really take to this adulthood thing, except I’m utterly lacking in motivation.
See, Cleveland has become business to me, and while I’m sure it will be exactly what I need it to be when it happens, for now it’s a series of things to attend to — still, true, there is the thought of what it will eventually be like to motivate me. Apart from that? No drive, no follow-through. In Marietta, it seemed like motivation abounded — there were reasons to stay up late with friends, to really work at a paper, to put so much time, thought and care into what was after all just a work-study job. I don’t do things for themselves and I don’t do them for any personal gain, direct or indirect: there’s always some outside motivation, and despite my inveterate selfishness, it usually has to do with another person.
More weeks than I care to count into summer vacation, I am utterly cut off from all the people who once motivated me, whose love and support and company made doing anything worthwhile. No amount of taking care of business is going to make up for this complete lack of companionship and mutual understanding.
So, yes, I have everything in order, and I’m fully prepared for things upcoming. In every day-to-day matter, I’m doing fine — you’d think I’m doing fine. This is how you learn what you value. Right? This is how you learn what you can and cannot forsake.
This isn’t all about transition and resistance to change. This is actual not-myself-ness. I feel so solitary and self-sufficient, yet I’m defined by whom I love. Some connections are severed and some are rather murky, and I feel at sea — yet absolutely stable, as I’ve said, in every noticeable respect.
This entry really got away from me and I’m not at all sure what I was trying to say.
