Small Games
<< 12:50 a.m. - Monday, Feb. 14, 2005 >>
Whether or not anyone else but me knows it, I had an enema of the mind today.

Starting there�
I have to confess that recently the idea of being with anyone, or taking part in conversation felt like shitting bricks. (Ooh, so many poo references tonight!)

Cause wow, life sure is different these days. And gosh, doesn�t feel like a lot of people exist in my physical range. I�m bored. I�m sad. I fucking don�t know what to do with my life.

What are we saying to each other anymore? I�ve been feeling like every time I sit down with anyone, it always comes down to how our new lives are awkward and hard. It�s true, sure. I can�t deny the amount of times I�ve cried and raged this year. But, look; this is how I am seeing it right now:

We�ve got some new scrapes and cuts, no more scabs of the past, but fresh stuff. Relationships � distance - personal change � whatever. We�re bent over staring at them. Gathering in groups to collectively poke and analyze our wounds. They won�t heal this way. They can�t. Perhaps we don�t want them to, and continue struggling for things to remain as they were, before the accidents that gave us our cuts in the first place. Let's do something else chicos.

I�ve relied on Erik too much. We�ve been dragging each other along, trying to make it here. I think I forgot a lot of myself with being in this house. It turns into an entire world and I forget everything outside of it. I cut my ties and shrink into my room � our room. The horrible spiraling of money caught me, and all I could think about after work, was if we had enough. Enough, enough. Can�t get sucked into such a mindless world of hurry, money, and success (whatever that may be.)

I need to write again. I need to paint again. I will. I�m out.