Oh Des Choix

Alors. Things have become so heartbreakingly normal, around here.

My only consolation is listening to KCRW in the mornings when I am late for another class. 

Sometimes, if I am lucky, the music shakes up a sweet, effervescent bubbling just below my lungs

and I float, mes amis. I float.

Have recently resolved not to buy any makeup until I've used up all my old ones. !

I went to MAC to buy a substantial number of items, and after that it's been hard to bat off 

the temptation to buy more.

It is, after all, MAC. Thank goodness the only thing I have from NARS is the 

Laguna/Orgasm stuff or I may just be in debt.

I have a lot of dreams, unwarranted, mind, about the other one. I normally never dream about 

boys I'm dating or who I like.

Granted I dream a lot about Memo, too. But the conversations, the feelings, the overwhelming 

sense of reality, never approaches the kinds of dreams I have about the other.

These feelings, though I fight, are so consumptive I break into pieces when he comes near me. 

I just want to be happy with one person, someone who is, enfin, right for me. 

That boy is not right for me. But oh! Should he lay his head across my lap once more 

I shall faint.

rest

we shall be given to restlessness and hard labour, and so prevail over lesser things, and step out stronger than by the way we came. sleep is for the weak, and procrastination only the slow gestation of marvellous things, like baby whales or well-written essays.

oh mr. sandman.

i feel terrible. i have only slept a handful of hours la nuit dernier. after the first hour, i had a nightmare, un vrai couchemar.

i dreamed i had been grazed by a bullet or shot in the top of my head. I had the feeling of utter heaviness and blackness. I could feel terrible difficulty and numbness in trying to turn myself over. Was I, thought I in that slow and sluggish manner, was I dead?

Was I dying?

I gasped upon waking, and the feeling of intense burning and wetness on my crown remained for a good many minutes. I lay there, awake, feeling this wetness even as I touched my own head and found it dry. It hurt, tender and burning, for so many minutes. The darkness in my room was like the darkness of some other place. There was a weight in my bones like my flesh had been packed with muddy coffee grounds. I felt like I was floating, and sick, weightless and yet sinking.

Was I really awake? My head still feels kind of weird and tingly.

I remember thinking, as I always do after these many, many nightmares, that I don't ever want to go back to sleep again. I wanted to call Memo. I wanted to be held. I wanted to know that I was alive and awake.

jesus i'm so tired. and so sick.

sinking slowly

Did yesterday happen? 

I need to stop smoking and drinking. It's making me rust. I am my worst person on these substances. It makes me lonely and depressed afterward.

Or at least it exacerbates my loneliness and depression. I didn't want to be at that kickback in the first place, and there I woke up. 

I didn't. Have. Any. Fun. I'm very... angry? Or sad, or something. I want to see someone, talk to someone, that isn't Memo, that isn't Catherine. I'm tired of everybody. I'm sick of people's faces. Their judging, their apathy. I'm fucking tired. I want to leave, without coming back. I'm done, goddammit. 

conundrum

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