:: Wednesday, November 17, 2004 ::

What was a month ago a cruel, crushing depression has settled into a sort of contented confusion, which from one moment to the next moves from disconcerting to almost comforting and back again. There is no ability to be sad when there is no ability to be sure of anything; just as the thought of sadness comes into being it is accompanied by thoughts of happiness, and what constitutes each, and the simultaneous presence and absence of both. Because there is no real certainty there is no stress, because to be stressed about uncertainty is in itself a certainty (of feeling), of which I have none (or at least very little, and what little I have, I have little faith in).

A lovely, quotable girly movie which sits happily in my DVD collection is responsible for the saying: “sometimes, if you don’t have any place to go, it’s probably a good idea to stay where you are.” So here I stay. And I putter about and I wash the dishes which will inevitably become dirty again and I do it to be a good roommate, but I leave the mess on the floor of my bedroom because it’s my space and why fight the cycle? The law of entropy states that everything in the universe does tend toward the highest state of disorder... although lately the messy pile surrounding my bed has become a sort of black hole, eating my belongings, and these four walls sparsely covered in artwork and photographs have become an event horizon which will not be meddled with. Enter if you dare.

Another life near mine has sadly ended, and more sickness and sadness is developing, and all of this as usual causes me to contemplate my own life, and attempt to conquer this confusion and formulate a plan involving good health and good times and no melancholy or sadness or time spent staring out of windows and at television screens. This plan becomes too far-off and elaborate and has too many variables and conflicting values, and I know it will never come to fruition, but it never hurts to try. Instead I try to blow my heart up like a big balloon so that when I let it go it will sputter air and propel itself all the way to the island, because it’s not getting much use over here but I have a feeling a few people might need it over there.


~song~ Tom Petty - Mary Jane’s Last Dance

:: Katy 2:19 a.m. [+] :: ::