Monday, March 5, 2012

Wanderlust.


This is some serious stream of conscience. My apologies, but not really. Sorry I'm not sorry, I guess.

I like to think I know a lot about a lot of things (e.g. baroque art, punctuation rules, Brechtian theater, exhaustion), but I don't know about revenge. I can tell you the difference between revenge and vengeance, but I can't tell you how to get either of them. I wish I could help you, but I can't. I'd tell you that recklessness is revenge, but I'm not positive... Sorry I'm not sorry, I guess?

I had this good idea for revenge, but it wasn't really very good and I deleted it. It was who I was back then, not back now.

I think it takes two to tango. Sometimes. But someone has to ask for the dance.

I don't know how to feel. I don't know how to make sense of myself. I don't know if I have a favorite color. I don't know what color my own eyes are, and I certainly don't know what color yours are. I don't know what I want. To catch up on sleep? A toaster that pops the bread up when it's finished? I don't know. Oscar says, "I feel everything." The therapist says, "Maybe everyone feels everything," or something to that effect. Oscar says, "But it's worse for me." Therapist: "Maybe everyone thinks it's worse for him." Oscar: "Maybe. But it really is worse for me."

I feel everything. Maybe everyone feels everything. But it's worse for me. Maybe everyone thinks it's worse for him? Maybe. But it really is worse for me.

I get myself into crazy situations that make for good journal entries. The things that should go into normal, religious-affiliated journals never make it in. God never makes it in, even though I know He should. I'm just trying to keep him in my normal life at this point. I'm trying to find God in these fragments. I think He's in that stained glass window, on top of that cathedral, stretched across Michelangelo's ceiling? Maybe that's what God is in the end.

I don't think I'll ever measure up to Virginia Wolfe or Mr. Foer. I don't think I'll ever be the first in line. Maybe if I knew what I wanted I would be able to be there, be on time, be. Be. Be. Be. I sat on a bee at the beach once, but I love the beach anyway. I threw up a peanut butter shake once, but I love peanut butter anyway.

The Ivy League stopped wanting me when I made a bad airplane in the seventh grade. NASA stopped wanting me when I stopped wanting NASA. You stopped wanting me when I got distracted.

I'm scared because nothing is proportional. I'm scared because I don't think this will make sense to you. I'm scared because this might make sense to you.

"You're not my type."
"Sorry I don't weight 86 lbs."
"Sorry I'm not Cache Thompson."
"Touche."
All my love,
Addy

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

thanks

Rachel said...

"The things that should go into normal, religious-affiliated journals never make it in. God never makes it in, even though I know He should. I'm just trying to keep him in my normal life at this point."

Exactly my life.
Fantastic post.

Anonymous said...

those pendants are lovely...they look like majoras and minoras....

Please prove you're not a robot..boooya

Morgan said...

1.) I'm obsessed with the new background.
2.) I love this, "I think it takes two to tango. Sometimes. But someone has to ask for the dance."
3.) I loooooooooove you.