My internet has been off all week. Piles of thoughts have accumulated in my mind – which reminds me of my latest trick. One of my favorite parts in Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar is when Esther’s in the hospital right after Suicide Attempt No. 1 and says “I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head”. It’s chilling and terrifying because it’s true. Most truths feel that way – chilling and terrifying. And I love hearing it and standing up for it – the truth. It sounds so noble and unblemished at first, until you remember it’s rarely what you want. But I’d kill for that moment – for being able to tell the truths from the untruths (not lies, because dreams are untruths but not lies).
Part of my life is filled with those untruths by the way. I’ve been given “stress pills” for it and was told to go to therapy – which reminds me of another book. Bridget, from Ann Brashares’ The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, is described by the school counselor, right before he tells her to get therapy, as “single-minded to the point of recklessness”. That’s exactly how I feel but in reverse, sort of. I feel like I’m a dreamer to the point of recklessness. And like The Beatles once said, “I feel fine”.
Okay, I should stop getting so deep into my mind because, like I said, “I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head”. I fear if I get too deep in my mind I’ll find out what’s wrong with it after... after last year, I guess. That’s when it all went wrong, and I do sound a lot like Willy Loman. I should stop trying to trace back to the moment it all went wrong and look forward. And so I will. Here are some things that have been flying around in my hazy mind all week:
-A certain person in kung-fu class – not the new instructor who’s only a couple years older that me, as most people would guess. Even his girlfriend knows it, it’s sad. He is waaay in over his head for me, though I hate to admit it. He keeps lingering and touching and talking and we both know how bad that is. But anyway, I’m talking about someone else. The person I’m talking about is not in any way available and that’s why I’m like this. Out of reach things feel better, I guess. And in this case, I might not be dreaming, as usual. I’ve noticed all the corresponded furtive glances, the shaky yet firm hand-shake, the stutters that flood both our speeches, and the undeniable coincidences that irrevocably link us together. More than that, there’s the delicious tension I haven’t felt since ages ago. Last year was all about exterior feeling; this one’s all about mind games and... tension. Hey, maybe that’s what lead me to stress pills! Anyway, I keep getting distracted. Well, for now there’s not much to say because we’re both aware of all the reasons not to give in and give it a try. And I do have a song to go with this situation, but if I said it’s name (or even singer) it’d be too obvious, and we all know obvious stinks. It’s all about coy and tense and dramatic and redeeming in the end.
-Pills. This one, that one, anyone. Think of all the different connotations and remember about that drug lecture I’ve got tomorrow (or maybe I’m just throwing you off, because could be not what you think). Think of Janis Joplin, my Extended Essay, China (KT Tunstall’s “Other Side of the World”), hands and other things, worried parents, and unwelcome conversations in the farm. Listen to The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields”.
-Helter Skelter and not thinking straight and not remembering and then remembering deliciously insane fragments of the “demented night” (Brass, Helen Walsh) and mixing intoxicantes budistas (see older blog entries) and falling and giving money to the poor and yelling in the street and coming home in a cab and almost not making it to bed (alone). “Yeah, you may be a lover but you ain’t no dancer” baby.
-Crushes that never were. Like a certain person who reminds me of that actor that played Wolverine. Billions of thoughts involving that one, love. Not a single thing came true, which was a big change and what I loved about it the most. Now even thinking about him feels strange because I’ve moved on. My thought linger in the previous three bullets.
-Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter. H-O-T and back from the dead pile of discarded images.
-Clouds. Aren’t clouds wonderful? I wonder who lives on them. I gotta lose weight fast if I wanna make it there. Hahah, it’s the meds, I tell you.
-Dreams – not daydreams. Especially one involving a falling plane and a certain person who could very well be an improved (and available) version of Bullet No. 1.
-That Gibson Dove guitar I crave so much and that Topshop scarf.
-Lessons. All kind of lessons, wink wink. Hahah, the meds speak again.
I better go before the meds spill too much. It’s so hard being subtle when I want so badly not to. The Beatles were right again... “Love is all you need” if you wanna go craaaazy. Love and meds and plenty of buddhist intoxicants. I wish George Harrison was alive. I’d be a groupie for sure. But hey, that’s what Steven Tyler’s for.
Holy fuck, get my fingers away from the keyboard.
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