The Very Thought of You
May. 20th, 2002 02:15 pmand I forget to do
So. I suppose I'm procrastinating updating because nothing terribly exciting has happened in my life since I went to sleep last night, though I did dream about an outdoor party/bbq featuring guest appearances by both Myles and
drood. And my workday is remarkably calm and quiet with one attorney out of the office. I had one phone call with Paradise Regained to discuss 'the situation', or whatever other euphemism I can come up with to remind myself what's really happening without actually talking about it. Partly because I've talked it to death in real life I have no real need to process it in the journal, or even record it, because believe me, this has been imprinted in my brain. One doesn't forget things like this.
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do
And I suppose I'm avoiding thinking about MelRo currently engaging in a law school booty call. Actually, it's remarkably easy to not think about, which makes me think that I'm doing pretty damn well. I mean, I feel okay, so that must mean I am okay, right? There's no one here but me, so there's no compulsion to lie, since there's no recipient.
I'm living in a kind of daydream
I think I avoided writing this morning, for fear some mutant beast from my subconscious would make an ugly appearance. But now I think there is no beast. I mean, sure, not everything is perfect. I had a minor bout with anxiety yesterday afternoon, but every time they happen, they are shorter and briefer and get resolved sooner. I think. At least for me -- I won't speak on someone else's behalf.
You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you
I sometimes worry that I'm not very good at keeping secrets because I'm prone to being gossipy at times. But it's really two separate issues. I have pieces of information about myself or things I've done I've never told anyone. I have pieces of information that people have told me that I've never shared with anyone. I mean, most everyone has these things. But I never really think about it until I pull open a drawer in my mind and give something back to someone I secretly took many moons ago, something that probably looms rather large in my subconsious, even if my conscious mind practically forgot about. Sometimes I take these unshared pieces of information and break them apart and store them all over my heart, in such a way they minorly effect numerous actions and thoughts and feelings without ever explicitly confessing the truth. I'm trying to get rid of a 10 pound bag of flour without anyone noticing, by adding a tablespoon to every food item, slowly trying to get rid of the evidence, the weight. It's only flour, nothing poisonous -- but it's not really needed. Now that I've owned up to the bag, maybe I can stop dispersing it.
The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
I'm an information-gatherer and storer by nature. I don't tend to get eaten up by secrets or unshared information -- I actually sort of thrive on having such a range of knowledge with different levels of security access. But sometimes I just pick up too much. Something looked good on the shelf but doesn't work in my home. Or it's just too cluttered and it's time to let go of the silly antiquated items which serve no purpose and maybe didn't belong in me anyway.
The very thought of you, my love
I wonder what pieces of me people have on their shelves. I wonder if they think their pieces are original when perhaps I've duplicated them to others. And more importantly, I wonder who has random originals of me tucked into a closet that I've forgotten about, but perhaps they still take out the story and examine it occasionally.
So. I suppose I'm procrastinating updating because nothing terribly exciting has happened in my life since I went to sleep last night, though I did dream about an outdoor party/bbq featuring guest appearances by both Myles and
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The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do
And I suppose I'm avoiding thinking about MelRo currently engaging in a law school booty call. Actually, it's remarkably easy to not think about, which makes me think that I'm doing pretty damn well. I mean, I feel okay, so that must mean I am okay, right? There's no one here but me, so there's no compulsion to lie, since there's no recipient.
I'm living in a kind of daydream
I think I avoided writing this morning, for fear some mutant beast from my subconscious would make an ugly appearance. But now I think there is no beast. I mean, sure, not everything is perfect. I had a minor bout with anxiety yesterday afternoon, but every time they happen, they are shorter and briefer and get resolved sooner. I think. At least for me -- I won't speak on someone else's behalf.
You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you
I sometimes worry that I'm not very good at keeping secrets because I'm prone to being gossipy at times. But it's really two separate issues. I have pieces of information about myself or things I've done I've never told anyone. I have pieces of information that people have told me that I've never shared with anyone. I mean, most everyone has these things. But I never really think about it until I pull open a drawer in my mind and give something back to someone I secretly took many moons ago, something that probably looms rather large in my subconsious, even if my conscious mind practically forgot about. Sometimes I take these unshared pieces of information and break them apart and store them all over my heart, in such a way they minorly effect numerous actions and thoughts and feelings without ever explicitly confessing the truth. I'm trying to get rid of a 10 pound bag of flour without anyone noticing, by adding a tablespoon to every food item, slowly trying to get rid of the evidence, the weight. It's only flour, nothing poisonous -- but it's not really needed. Now that I've owned up to the bag, maybe I can stop dispersing it.
The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
I'm an information-gatherer and storer by nature. I don't tend to get eaten up by secrets or unshared information -- I actually sort of thrive on having such a range of knowledge with different levels of security access. But sometimes I just pick up too much. Something looked good on the shelf but doesn't work in my home. Or it's just too cluttered and it's time to let go of the silly antiquated items which serve no purpose and maybe didn't belong in me anyway.
The very thought of you, my love
I wonder what pieces of me people have on their shelves. I wonder if they think their pieces are original when perhaps I've duplicated them to others. And more importantly, I wonder who has random originals of me tucked into a closet that I've forgotten about, but perhaps they still take out the story and examine it occasionally.