22 January 2003 - 7:37 pm
isolation in the key of F minor.

walking away from the cafeteria, coat collar up and shoulders hunched. i must cut a strange and terrible figure, shoulders sloped and brow furrowed. steps hurried and demeanour pensive. one of those terrorist types, you know? sad.

and wishing that somehow all of any of this was over. plaintive strings on the computer now. gattaca - the departure. by michael nyman. feels like i'm watching something recede from me. something fall far into the distance, and i've lost it forever. it's been deployed to a foreign land. and i don't even know what it is.

i feel as though i've lost all places to actually talk. i talk to matt over the phone and AIM, sometimes. usually. when i'm breaking down. and not that i ever did "talk" to people before, but i always had that and those options. now i feel as though i'm slowly but surely pushed further away. a boat unwillingly leaving shore. the people are slowly stopping their hands from waving, turning around and headed back to their lives. you can only say goodbye for so long.

those terrible ten or thirteen seconds in the elevator, between the first and fourth floor - standing in a small space, the fluorescent light overbearing. slumping against the wall or carving a new scar in the fake wood with my room key. rubbing at the valleys and peaks of the key. wishing it wasn't so cold. that i'd eaten more. that i'd. done this, done that. why is life always such a series of regretful questions?

the heart asks pleasure first.

there's a certain gym-craze going on lately. it seems everyone and their roommates have decided to go work out, and become the healthy individual they know they can be. "are you lifting? lift! come on, this isn't funny, lift"

this from jason when we were re-arranging the room and i couldn't lift the other side of the bed up. crushing horribly any delusion i had about being even remotely ... well, strong in any capacity. now instead of describing myself as wiry, it's more as though i'm stick-like. which is unflattering. which is what i should say, since it's the truth.

"so here i go, back into the world. but this time i'm happy, completely in love, and looking forward to whatever the future holds for me." - from anna's journal.

back into the world. i'm musing on that statement. if there is a "world" out there waiting for me. if i'm in it and perhaps i'm just blinded to it. if perhaps i'm in the end too egocentric to realise it.

you know, i think i wear clothes that are too big for me. the other day i had to borrow a shirt from jason, a small, and i usually wear large. and it fit ... well, snugly, but somewhat more comfortably. which makes me wonder. although ... it's not that big of a deal. sometimes i hate clothing - not that i'm a nudist - but i hate that i have to be so self-conscious about what i'm "in the mood" to look like, what vibe i plan on giving off. as though i plan it. which i don't.

but oh christ. why do i keep writing in this stupid, stupid thing. it's become a place of self-flagellation, i am a monk carrying a cat o'nine tails and consistently hitting myself with it, whipping, hearing the sssslice of the air as it thwacks. just before. and no wincing. and no tears. something so stupid. most people are stopping, or have stopped. not sure how i think about that. nate was smart and passworded his.

i couldn't write in here if i didn't know people read it. hello mr. exhibitionist. how are you today.

and jeremy's journal has taken on a decidedly new acerbic bent. or maybe it's just the new layout. but in any case, it makes me laugh, and for that reason i enjoy it.

end tangent. because i need to go do something. which basically means i'll be sitting here for awhile staring at the screen, or at winamp, trying to decide what music to listen to, or who to talk to on AIM, or if i should eventually do that paper for my stanislavski class.

end tangent.

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