Today is a Saturday
I just got finished with my Native American Studies Class
We watched a really gruesome movie
That’s a good thing
In my opinion
I now am at a Panera
I got a bread bowl and a caramel coffee
This’ll be much more expensive than my last therapy session
$9.95 I think, actually
So I better bloody open up
I told Mama in the car this morning
That I feel like I can’t really open up to her
Nor do I feel like I can rightly kvetch to any of my beloveds
Because I really don’t want to be burdensome
Since they have their own difficulties
And it’d be tremendously selfish to assume
That they’d drop everything to help me with my difficulties
When they have to first think of how to handle theirs
I feel like I should go somewhere
Leave the state
At some point soon
Because it’s nice to have a longing for something
I need my Santa Fe
Though I doubt mine will literally be Santa Fe
More like London or New York
But I looked into NYU and it isn’t as appealing as I thought
And the British education system is so different than the US
I have a bloody hard enough time transferring credits
From simple Chicago to simple Minneapolis
There’s a barely seven hour drive between the two
Not an ocean separating
Besides I really like Intermedia Arts
And there’s a gorgeously bohemian apartment
Above Espresso Royale
And across from an MCTC building
Not that I could buy it
But I believe, perhaps erroneously, that it’s healthy to have huge aspirations
Because right now I just feel like I’m drifting
And I’ve felt so much better in the past
When there’s some huge unattainable feat that I can climb up my mountains for
Today Pat put cyclical time on the board for us
And she made a near microscopic dot
She said
This small thing is your struggle
This great hoop is your life
Remember this for when you’re hurting
And I nodded along
Because that is a lovely belief to have
I try to shout out the things now
That always helped before
NO SUCH DETAILS WILL SPOIL MY PLAN- THAT IS THE KIND OF GIRL I AM
And that sort of thing, but to no avail
I feel like I’m at the low-point now
Right before my struggle to triumph song begins being underscored
I’m at the-
“Find a deep cave to hide in, in a million years they’ll find me, only dust-
And a plaque that reads here lies poor old Jack”
And the audience will be amazed with my sudden ability to be a contralto
And I’ll spring from the tombstone
Strip off my assumed identity to reveal my real identity
And go back to being as chipper and easily passionate as I always used to be
Fuck yeah!
I’ve been listening to ‘Homecoming’ by Greenday a lot
And as much as I can relate-
The chorus isn’t helping
It is as dismal as myself
And I really don’t believe that much negativity anyways
Yet I can belt along
Making comparisons in my mind
Saint Jimmy as HST and Jesus of Suburbia is Darius
And yeah- it works pretty well like that
I seem to have an inexplicable urge
To channel all my awful-as-I-now-am feelings into fictional characters
Not even my own- that’d be productive
I mean other peoples’s
But that might turn into acting, if I want to be optimistic
But I remember watching an interview documentary thing
In which Tim Burton talked of both Catharsis
And also the feeling of falling apart
And back then I saw both as admirable in an artist yet somehow not relatable
But now, I feel I’m basically nothing but all that
Yes- this coffee is so good!
I remember when I had a real therapist she offered to take me out for coffee
And I was 10 or 11 so I said no thank you
Because even though the cool kids were drinking coffee then
I really only just wanted a slew of smoothies
I have to listen to music that isn’t this
But I don’t want internet because I’ll get distracted
And in real therapy that wouldn’t be an option
It’d either be confiding or silence
So that should be the same for me
Mama seems to have decided that Joe should be who I confide in about this all
And maybe I’ve decided it too
But that’s because I know he knows of this himself
But that’s precisely the reason, also, that I shouldn’t bombard him with mine
When he, of course, already has his
I don’t remember what I post on here often
Because what I write and subsequently put
Are the same things, often, that I think of on the bus
Or before I go to sleep
I know I still have a bit of a censor
But I’m glad that it’s deteriorating and withering away
Because it would put me in bad situations, but I think being able to tell all
Would be a lovely thing
I think I would wind up singing to my Therapist
Sooner or later
Because I’d say something like-
I feel like Hedwig
And she or he or xe or whomever would say
Who is Hedwig and why do you feel like them
And I’d sing back
The fates are vicious and they’re cruel-
You’ve learned too late
You’ve used two wishes, like a fool
And then you’re someone you are not-
And I’d sing the rest of the entire anthology of songs
But that particular lyric made me break entirely
When I recorded myself singing it the night before I turned nineteen
I have video proof to prove it
Should I show it?
May as well-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5BHKRJMpNA
I’ll regret this later
But I suppose I trust you,
So-
Please be kind
I can sing well sometimes, too
At least according to people I love
And really, to me
That’s all that matters
I don’t give a fuck about some huge Broadway casting agency
Or anything like that-
Prolonged eye contact
And an affirmation of pride
That makes me happier than nearly anything else on this earth
And it makes me believe
That I’m not as useless as I may feel right now
See, this is why I should have a real therapist-
Because it isn’t particularly proper to get crying in a coffee-shop
Though I’ve done it before
Many many many times
So this isn’t really anything new
But that breakthrough of sorts I brushed just now
It’d be so much easier if I could just go back to SPCPA
I wish I could
But they want their alumni to return triumphant
Not a bleeding wreck like me
But Ms.Hart told me I looked beautiful
And Ms.Hart told me that she’s glad Art is my religion
And in that aspect, she’s basically my confirmation sponsor
My “real” catholic confirmation sponsor posted homophobic bile on Facebook yesterday
It makes me feel as stupid, choosing her as a mentor, as I feel for choosing Columbia for a school
Sure I got confirmed and sure I passed my classes
But I wish the whole ordeal in both cases hadn’t actually happened
But I don’t want to waste wishes
So I suppose not
I would rather wish to be passionate again
I’d rather be passionate than happy, in all actuality
Because being passionate and making good things of that passion
That makes me happy
That’s art
Art makes me happy
I think that’s pretty obvious now, though
I am always baffled by which poems people like
I have to call my mum and brother-
Just like when I was in Chicago
He’s fucking up with school again
And I want to help him
But he actively chooses things I can’t participate in to write about
So even if I were the best writer in the world
I couldn’t really help
So I can’t help-
And it’s back to all being entirely up to him
I’d also sing the long rift in
Welcome Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooome
Because it really isn’t very comforting
Which fits well with what I’m feeling
It’s uneasy and sorrowful in a way that cannot be easily explained
I’ve come Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooome
Look I mustn’t get caught up in lyrics
I mean I do that all the time
And it’s better than zoning out, surely
But that isn’t helping the therapy session
I mean I know what songs speak to me
And why, if there is a why
Or at least sometimes why-
But anyways
I think that happens
I can easily put my brain onto music
So I don’t do anything or think anything outside of the lyrics
And on one hand that’s very very good
There are girls with glitter-eyelids walking up the stairs
I think there is some sort of girl’s sports thing going on
I hope they win-
I hope they all win
Yeah
Hunter S. Thompson has the same personality type as I, apparently
*Had
That’s sad that I have to do that
I still haven’t called Mama and Darius
But I should
So I will real quick
The internet doesn’t work here
Which sucks because I have homework
But it really proves beneficial to the prospect of this therapy session
I’m kinda surprised if anyone ends up reading this
It’s a long list of nothingness
Which probably isn’t particularly interesting
But I like seeing people fall apart
But what’s nice about that is that they’re fictional characters
When it’s real life all the sadistic fun of sorts is sucked out
Sadness is just sadness
As opposed to glorious beautiful artistic tragedy
Anyways
I still love the hell out of ‘Après Moi’
I like the Wendigo-sounding howl in the cover I bought
I still haven’t called Mama and Darius
I think I’m going to keep up with this, for the record
The fake therapy I’ve prescribed myself to
Because talking to an imaginary professional is better that talking to no one
I’ve done this for years anyways
Monologue-ing in my head about my problems to people
But the people in my brain are real ones
That I could imagine meeting in some odd place
And they ask me what I’m up to
And I tell them without even the slightest hint of having any sort of boundaries
Because, as I said, that might be nice
But it’s just monologue-ing
And that can only do so much
I want to watch the Wendigo movie-
It’s on my laptop
So I should
But I have real things to do
And real things to watch, for that matter
But perhaps if Darius wants to, we can watch it when I get home
I have to call, though, still
I figured out how to put it on i-tunes along with a NC episode
That has nothing to do with anything, though
I’m really good at tangential thoughts
Not that that’s a good thing to be good at, but I am
I claimed way too easily and way too soon that my struggle was over
At long long last
It’ll be at long long last when this is over
But people yell at me
You know what, babe- it’ll never be over
And I want to snarl at them, especially since they might be right
I’ll take the bus back at around 3:00-ish
For now I shall make a list of what I need to do
And write further here within the gaps
There’s a woman
A few tables over
Crying
And some jerk guy who she seems to trust
Is telling her to quit it
She can cry if she wants to
They’re physical fighting now
I’ve got to get out of here-
