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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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T minus 3 days
Three days out from my thirty-first birthday. Today has been spent, so far, shopping and watching a Monty Python movie. I drove around town, by myself, which is something that I hardly ever do, and I kept thinking about ways that I've changed in the past ten years. I thought about Eric and asked him, out loud, "Do you miss me?" I thought about Robert, wondering where his remains have gone. I thought about how, as I've gotten older, sex has gotten better. I thought about where I am going next year when I head off to graduate and/or medical school. I thought about how I will soon be thirty-one, and how all my friends are in their early to mid-twenties. Does this mean anything? Last night to MayF. and Enf.'s house to watch Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which I loved. I have a hard time connecting these days, with anything. I still want to run away. I still want to be done with this part--whatever part this is. I still want to find out what I want to do with my life. I still want to finish school and go to medical school and become a doctor. I still know that I don't want children. I still have baggage. I still like to be invisible. I still don't know how not to be. When I was a child, I used to examine my development over and over. I used to ask myself what had gone into making me me. I used to see much more clearly what these things were. I used to have some idea of how things had come about. Now. Now I haven't nearly that kind of objectivity. I haven't nearly the motivation, nor the skill. When did I lose these things and start making it my business to fool myself and hide things from myself? When I was a child, I could put aside all the terrible things that were happening to me. I could live outside all of those things and just be. Now, I feel as though that is a luxury I can't afford.
More lies:
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