shit, so THAT'S gravity?
��������� �����i have a paper-cut on the tip of my right middle finger.i sat on the stoop and watched mark and sarah and kristin and asa and anthony play ball on the basketball court. it was nice weather. i smoked a cigarette and it only made me feel heavier inside. jason came home and found me laying on the bed. i faked being tired. jason mraz played loudly in the background.
staring at the phone book on my cell-phone. who can i call who can i call ... and no one was the answer. [he's too everywhere in his head]
i talked to myself coming up the stairs tonight, then cleaned the room in a bit of a frenzy, and tried to settle down. talked to betsy on IM some. about rilke. and my problem. and her problems. and how therapy was really okay but i thought it felt like cheating. and how i could talk anytime. even though we barely know one another. another friendship conducted primarily online. or something. [well...that happens sometimes]
lyrics are usually in brackets. tonight it is quotes from other people that are on the tape that runs through my head. my wallet, a pack of camel lights, my cellphone, keys, lighter, pen, various shreds of paper, all litter the desk right in front of me. one of the keys is slightly bloodied. this is like bulimia in that it only gets more annoying, and eventually people will say "oh, yeah, that freak." if they don't already.
this is where i get blisteringly honest.
why can't i handle this? i should be able to be an emotionally mature person who should get a grip on life and quit flying off the handle so often. it's ridiculous of me to feel this way all the time - i don't care how ungrammatical these sentences are - i am a male. in my stereotypical view, males do not exude emotion like this. perhaps - it occured to me the other day - i latch onto those males which i view as masculine to emulate them and hide my insecurity with being "less" masculine than them. yes. no? another theory to add to the growing pile. [well...that happens sometimes]
i told myself to shut up. to check yourself. to just ... let it go. there were SPA votings today. mark and nate are the new co-chairs, casey is the secre-treas, i am the publicist. [that's what most people said, they just wanted you to get that one more year of experience, they wanted to see you grow some more] ... they don't fully trust you now. they want to hope that you'll mature more in the next year and then maybe they'll consider voting for you. not that i'm disappointed or upset. i expected it. i made a mess out of speaking extemporaneously, and worded my responces badly.
i think i need some time alone? but alone is never healthy. i'll end up smoking more. but it only makes me feel heavier inside. [hey come play with us] and i keep walking. sitting on the stoop watching. the dark silhouette of the ball passed from hand to hand to hand to hand -
[well...that happens sometimes]
kristin d tells me her therapist tells her to allow "wallowing" time. to say "ok, i feel bad, and this is how i feel," and identify the feeling with yourself. then to let it go. and rejoin the world. i agree, mostly - but i can't shake this. i need to talk, i need other people, support & encouragement. i need too much. and i worry that it's going to drive people away. i don't ... even want honesty right now, which frightens me. i just want - something.
i related to mea today how i love photography. "i remember everything in frames," he told me, and we shared a laugh about the aesthetic nature of things. [he's too everywhere in his head] drew up the program for the ten minutes. was proud of it. my pride wasn't enough for me. why am i so hungry for the adulation of others?
mike congratulated me on the production of his ten minute play tonight, as i was helping strike the set. i had not had the lines down quite right. it must have been quite harrowing for mark, who was the only other person onstage with me. there were awkward pauses. fuck-ups. "thanks, man," mike said.
i breathed a small, sardonic laugh. nodded. "don't thank me," i said. and kept walking. [well...sometimes that happens] he told me in the dressing room downstairs right after our ten minute play. i was a nazi he was an american soldier. i said "i thought i had the lines."
"well, sometimes that happens," he said. and it sounded half like a sigh. we didn't say anything else. i left the room. the door shut behind me.