2004-01-11 - 6:18 p.m.
A sunday I've mostly wasted, telling myself "I'll start over tomorrow"
clean room clean laundry and all that.. paint, act, breathe, move, try and remember my goals, try and at least remember that I had goals...
I'm overcome by the strangeness of how specific our lives are, that I am alive exactly NOW with the ever present task of making my life meaningful in one way or another. comforted, slightly, by the thought that wrapping myself in this grey void may be the best thing for me to do right now. that at least I should stop constantly worrying about what the "best" thing to be doing is. It's an unsolvable dilemma. although the fact that it occurs to me is in itself an indication I may have fallen through a crack somewhere. but I like falling through cracks. Don't I?
I have been here before. There was a time, about ten years ago, when I lost most of my interest in waking life, slept 12-16 hours a day and had vivid, amazing, meaningful dreams. Maybe that is what I am doing again, and maybe it is necessary. But the dreams don't seem to be enough this time. Ten years ago they culminated in a vision of words spelling themselves out across the sky, clouds forming letters. Languages I invented, meanings forgotten on waking. This time I feel emptied of those words.
I am not sad. I am not depressed or despondent. I am something somewhat like a question hanging in the grey sky, waiting, not expecting an answer. In fact lately I've been wanting grey clothes, grey eyes, grey grey grey.
