in quarantine;
��������� �����it's not even very good rain.here i am. after not having left my room all day, really. i'm running out of groceries, and out of patience. tolerance, too. dar williams provides the soundtrack tonight, with 'spring street.'
oddly enough. cell phone active lately. rings during the day - once tara, twice mike. tara was asking if i wanted to go see 'laurel canyon' with her at the movies on exchange. i had just waked. at around 3pm. i think i said something like 'not my cup of tea.. but thanks.' slept again, until about 6. the night passed like a train swiftly bound for canada. i have a slight headache right about now, as well. the result of too much computer time. watched frailty tonight, which was surprisingly good.
also, the self-imposed isolation is going all right. i think there's times when i just get .. over-exposed to people, and then get really angry with them. i wasn't in the mood for anyone today, at all. last night was the last straw - it could have been fun. could have been. you know the fun - getting into places that you shouldn't be in. it was jason and i, first, into the theatre with all the lights off. mark happened along, eventually, too, and other buildings. up and through windows. unlocking doors from the inside. locks and unlocks.
it could have been fun. if i didn't feel like the youngest brother. 'oh, i forgot,' jason's earnest face said at one point, half-shadowed. 'you never had brothers. or friends.' and i know he didn't mean it that way, or so he said. i shrugged. i didn't much care at that point. i'll let my eyes take in the surrounds, i said to myself. ignore the other partners in the silence. meanwhile, i'm on the thirty-fourth floor of heaven - there's so much to be seen. until words are shared.
'we had some quality boy time tonight, can't you just enjoy that?' jason said later, on instant messenger. i'd fallen into a trademark despair. yeah. fucking fantastic, i said.
'i'm just at a low point right now,' i said. it's 4am.
'there's no point,' he said.
no point. to feel bad.
'I'm sick of this, chris - you just love to be miserable and there's nothing I can do I guess... I try to talk to you, and I try to help --- but nothing gets through to you... you aren't willing to accept any help from me... or advice... you just want to make me worry - and I'm not willing to worry anymore.'
i put it as my away message.
'how dramatic.'
there was something oddly freeing in it. knowing. at the same time, disenheartening. who was i talking to about this thing the other day - about being honest in these journals. no matter what. they said 'but people expect that from you.' and i felt good. i'm glad that people expect honesty from me. i don't expect anything less.
all i know is - like i said before - i'm sick of this forced ... whatever it is. maybe i just need some time. tomorrow i'm going out to borders, to apply for a job, hopefully. and elsewhere. i'm sick of waiting for the movie theatre. it's another world for me, right now, ekeing out this odd existence from day-to-day, and i've had enough. i need an occupation, and i need one now.
my hands are shaking slightly, too. undeniably, this is a result of nocturnal cycles. i could go to fed-ex and work the night shift package handling job, at $10 or $11/hr. but i don't like to use my night hours that way. they're more valuable to me. the daytime ... i just see it as being something expendable. night is relax, when my heartbeat slows.
i feel like i have a virus of incompetence. and over-analysis. it just keeps mutating. i don't feel as though i can do much of anything right. and unfortunately, as jason said, i just feel that way to make people worry. so what is it, folks? which is right? the way i feel, or the way other people think i feel? which is real? am i saying this to you simply to make you worry? or do i genuinely feel this way? do i even know? who is more aware of my true motives?
sardonic. i feel like lashing out at someone with a fist that i know wouldn't hurt after i broke their nose. watch me smile.
for now, sleep. or idleness. trying to write more. so jealous of dan and his prophetic spewings. i remember being like that. it was almost religious, like speaking in tongues. my mind exploded with allegories and connections and thoughts, zip, bang, bang - all this writing, all this thought, all this ...
it ended when i came here. because i lost an audience. it just .. slowly dribbled away. i strive, still, to write, but it's more disciplined now. even the sudden confluence of punctuation at the end of poetry lines - everything is more structured, disciplined, boring. prosaic.
and so, like the rain outside, the drizzling screen of ambiguous rain, i'm going to go fall into bed. at least i have the visit of rachel later today to look forward to.