There are people who have nothing in common and love each other. There are people who have everything in common and do not love each other. There are some people who have a few things in common and love each other, sometimes, or all of the time, or most. There are people who wished they loved each other. People who wished they loved each other, sometimes. There are people who don't try to love each other. There are people who try. There are people who don't try to not. There are people who like each other, but do not love each other. There are people who love each other, but do not like (each other), except when they're drunk or relieved, confident or rich. There are people who marry, who like each other, and love each other, but do not stay married. There are some rich people who stay in love, but do not stay together. There are some poor people who think too much about love, who are never in love, until they're rich, and then they feel poor. There are people who think about love constantly, who are loving constantly, who are loved now, even, who are loving sometimes when you call, who know how to love, who always call back. There are people who are sorry they didn't love or know better, or did, sometimes. There are people who will be loved, because they are very sorry. There are people who aren't sorry, who don't have to be sorry by most moral standards, who will be loved today, but not a few weeks from now when they lose their jobs. There are people who will think that they stopped being loved partly because they lost their jobs, but mostly because they weren't deserving. There are some people who will find their losses liberating. There are people who love on their knees, people who love erect, and people who love erections. There are good kissers in love, and people in love, who are good kissers to some but not good kissers to others. Some good kissers in love make bad decisions in bed. Some people regret loving. There are people who love as a sport and people who don't love as a profession, but wish they did, or don't wish anything. They are people who love complicated people, and complicated people who love simple and complicated people, or one or the other, or neither, at all. There are people who have been exhausted by love, people who could keep going, people who need a little break. There are people who are up to their slender necks in love, people with fat necks who eat love, find it spicy, who ache, and medicate their symptoms. There are people who won't tell anyone they've loved, people who wish more people would talk about love. There are people who write songs about love, who could take love or leave love, who use microphones when they argue, megaphones when they tell you it's time to go. There are people who love their mothers. There are people who love love their mothers and write memoirs about it that some people love, but others don't , because of the mature subject matter. There are people who love mature subject matter. There are some mature people who cannot love, because real love is unfathomably mature. There are some people who've sunk thousands of leagues under the sea, who are not with us anymore, who are loving in heaven (or Atlantis), we can only assume, if we love God, if we love our mothers, or maybe people who love just their mothers can go to heaven, or they get to choose, because maybe they'd rather go to hell where they can feel hot about loving their mothers, but get punished for it, and maybe punishment turns them on when they're in or out of love. Amen brother. I'm ending it there.
I bought really sharp shoes for this pretend job I have. Who wants to play with my little Fisher Price kitchenette? I dare you to guess how old I am! I dare you to guess how long I've been in business.
“Oh my gosh, I keep recording voice post and they sound so boring, so this is the last time I'm doing it and that's it and I don't need even care maybe you won't even get to hear it. So I don't know I guess some strange things have been happening to me lately and you know they probably not even that strange really, to make them strange. Oh for example a lot of my neighbours have been talking to me lately, and really this has happened within a few days for girls who's talked to me once, I'm like what's going on are they gonna like raided my apartment. And the funny thing is that they keep saying how the other neighbours are crazy but then oh creepy crazy whatever but then they seem very creepy themselves and like one guy kept backing away from me and going they blasting off a gun here oh my God ___ it was really weird and he's breath did smell like onions but I don't really have a good sense of smell at all but it shouldn't bother me that much so I just told him it was ok and I left. I was just not going to go running at night any more. Also the other night I was dreaming and in a dream somebody had paused and they were about to say something and then I was walking up by the phone, the phone actually rang and it was like ___ it was really strange but I got really exited cause I thought oh my God maybe somebody needs me here like maybe something's fantastic is gonna happen anyway it just turned out to be like nobody I knew. That's it I don't know maybe I'm side kick. That's about it sorry. Bye.”
“Voice #1: I dreamt I moved on from our friendship.
Voice#2: That's terrible. Why?
Voice #1: It was very vivid. I'd be no fun to hang out with in dreams. Something always terminates.
Voice#2: But why had you moved on?
Voice #2: Because you had.
Voice #1: Why had I?
Voice #2: I guess our friendship didn't fit your purposes anymore.
Voice#1: Aw, are you mad at me or something?
Voice #2: No. It was very vivid.
Voice #1: But we're friends. And we're sitting in a pasture with a fantastic view of that farmhouse and its spinning windmill. No cows in sight! And we have cold beer in the cooler. And the sun! It's like a drooping eyelid.
Voice #1: A snooze.
Voice#2: What?
Voice #1: Where are the giraffes?
Voice #2: I'm done trying to please you. Our friendship is over! Wanna sandwich?
Voice #1: What kind?
Voice #2: Turkey, havarti cheese, lettuce, red peppers, mushrooms, with a light honey mustard glazing. Tangy, not the sweeter kind.
Voice #1: Ah, heavier on the mustard! Just what I like.
I remember this now only because I feel like I’m waiting for my life to flourish, I’m in this limbo period, and god, damn, it’s only April, really? In some magazine blurb, Matthew McConaughey was quoted regarding keeping things in moderation.He said he’d gone as much as a year without having sex, because he thinks you can have too much of things, like women. Really?You’re so wise, and that’s impressive Matthew, given your physique and status. You’re a monk trapped in that body, can you come to the monastery and make everyone gay?
Okay, but…this made me curious in the sense that I evaluated my own impulse control, not regarding sex, but more generally, my tendency to be fixated on the Countdown Toward Acquisition of the things I want.My thought patterns: It’s too long [the waiting period].When will it be over?I need this to begin.
Well, what is it that I need to begin?Something that could end shortly after it starts? Counting a span of months in used towel paper rolls or visits to the laundromat is kind of…mundane?Pathetic?Give me some help with the word.
I wondered, how did Father McConaughey go about this celibate period?Did he, like, make one of those paper chains, a really long one? I’m an expert at those! Three hundred sixty five links, counting down the days to the end of the year, the hours to the end of the day.Did he realize sometime after 12 months that it had been a year?Was he challenging himself, was this a project?The tabloids are only as enthralling as the person who reads them.
I reached the conclusion that much of my life has felt boring to me (“only boring people are bored…”- T or F?). “Mom, how long before the cookies are done, I’m gonna be bored until then, so I can be ready for these cookies” has been my strategy for a long time.I don’t know, I could play four square, or help my mom set the table with glasses of milk, I could engross myself in something and forget all about the cookies.But if I forget about the cookies, and someone else eats them, or they’re wrapped in foil and don’t taste the same tomorrow, what will I do?I’ll adapt won’t I.
“Calm down. Chill. Chill. Don't get too hurt up. You scare me baby. Look I'm in bright side. Why is the worst that could happen? You scare me baby. You are yelling. He is not that take a deal. He is not that take a deal. I'm not listening to this any more. Calm down. Chill. Chill. I'm hanging up now.”
I'm going to use up my voice post "allowances" and delete my journal dramatically. I jut recorded something, but it didn't post. Good damn thing. "Allowances" (see below).
I can't remember phone numbers. T/F I have trouble finding the "right word" T/F (see above) I have trouble remembering things when I am put on the spot. T/F I know I am intelligent, but it is hard to show others. T/F When I read, I find I have to go back over the same paragraph a few times to absorb the information. T/F I am a quick thinker, but can't always say what I mean. T/F I tend to be fickle, changing my mood and thoughts frequently. T / F (eh, not exactly) I tend to get overly excited about things. T / F My impulses tend to get me into a lot of trouble. T / F I tend to be theatrical and draw attention to myself. T / F
Answers: me, me, me! The last one not so much, except maybe a little sometimes, like, right now.
I dreamt that I was living in a large house with several people, one of them Chelsea Clinton. Chelsea was dating an old roommate of mine who still had the same habits. He didn't even live in the house, but he got pissed at me for using one of Chelsea's glasses, which I had washed and dried after use, by hand! I wasn't gonna take it from him this time. I got mad. Chelsea overheard and gave me a quick retort. I woke up sad.
It was warm enough to swim today. I just want to comfort, be comforted, write poetry, wear tank tops everywhere, play guitar expertly, see live music, make short films, feel intimate with people, and volunteer at a Recording For The Blind and Dyslexic organization.
Today I carried x-rays of my spine up to my apartment. They're sitting on the breakfast bar labeled SPINE.
I worry about things, but I'm generally optimistic. I just like to embark and not look back, trust my decisions. Making an arbitrary choice about where to live is not worrisome to me. It feels like it should be, but it's just not. How much anxiety is appropriate? I don't want to fixate on this shabby Anxiety Scale. I feel stronger when I'm marveling at the body's ability to heal.
At work I had to complete the very sophisticated task of putting labels on some baggies, which only I could do, and to further emphasize my outstanding talents, I imagined I was a new employee at a firm, about to beat their most esteemed employee's record for figuring out mathematical codes related to their software. Each time I slapped a label on the bag, I had figured out a code! It was really exhilarating, but I was under a time limit, and my co-workers and supervisors kept interrupting me to ask questions like, "Do you want this freeze-dried icecream sandwich I got at a sporting goods store?". No problem, because I just added more seconds to the clock. In the end, I was the new record holder.
My paid livejournal account expires on November first. I went really wild one night when I was drunk and spent five dollars on a two-month paid account! Leave your ideas about what I should record for my final (and fourth/public) voice post. I will write the suggestions on slips of paper, put the slips of paper in a coat pocket and pull one out of a hat. I promise to record the idea that is pulled, no matter what it is. If you happen to be the only one leaving a suggestion, leave five.
I only relate to people through gimmicks. Hope you understand!
Here is a picture of my feet/shoes. I identified with them once, but I'm not sure I do anymore.
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