Feb. 18th, 2004

raybear: (Spike)
Last night I dreamt I was meeting someone at a street fair/festival and ran into [livejournal.com profile] inthealong, who was also waiting for a friend. We chatted while waiting and waiting and waiting...and eventually decided we were both being blown off. So we walked around together and kept talking. At one point she turned to me and said, "I'm almost glad that other person didn't show up, I've had a good time." The feeling was mutual, though I'm not sure if this statement happened before or after I nearly killed us both in the car because the brakes weren't working. It actually wasn't too scary, we were just cruising down a street at 25 mph and I managed to slow us down and veer towards a curb to try and help us stop. Even with the car accident, this dream was a pleasant change from the heartwrenching feeling of dread I fell asleep with.

In the good-news department, Ms. Verge asked me out to a madri gras dinner next week. I'm quite pleased. And yesterday I e-mailed my MFABFF about feeling depressed and he called me! Unfortunately it was while I was out jogging, but his message was so wonderful to hear.

I was going to watch a movie last night but instead got distracted on the phone chatting with [livejournal.com profile] vimandvigor, then [livejournal.com profile] wearemany. I was expecting her to fall asleep right after I called, but I was lucky enough to get an hour long catch-up session.

Last night I decided I'm breaking up with Proust. I'm done. Well, I'm not done, I'm only halfway through, but trust me, I'm done. I don't know how this will effect me having to lead a reading conference based on his book starting Thursday. I just can't handle his narcissistic tendencies anymore and I need to spend time with other writers as well as activities outside of books. He's sucking up all my energy and not being very giving or attentive. Once I realized I didn't have to finish the book (any more than I HAVE to do anything in life except breathe eat and sleep), that it didn't make me a failure as a writer, or a grad student, or a person, I got this immense feeling of being high. Freedom can be a powerful drug. I let go of the damn book, and soon enough I'd finished revising a story and sent it to someone for a read-through, worked on some new material, posted discussion in a conference, and started reading Nabokov. And most importantly, I felt better.
raybear: (cranky)
Oops. I guess if I'm going to accidentally mark a "private" post as "friends", there are far worse ones than what I just did about being frustrated at work. It could have been some intensely personal diatribe that accidentally went out into the cosmos. These are the times when my brain screams "paper journal!"

Speaking of screaming brains, mine is out of control today, speeding off in every direction and moving at the speed of light. That might be lofty. How about the speed of sound instead? And I do feel like this lightning rod for the universe. It's exhausting. Or maybe being at work after not falling asleep until after 2:30 am is what's exhausting. I should take my own advice that I doled out to Sparky yesterday about sleep deprivation and state of mind. Though I'm not crazy today yet. Yet.

Being a grad student and working full-time is harder than I intially accomodated for. I can't help beg the question -- why the hell am I dabbling in personal ads? I don't have that kind of time. I can't even find time for all my friends. I can't even see my girlfriend for more than hour during any given day.

No wonder all my fantasies lately have been about an imaginary houseboy. I want a live-in lover who's on call whenever I want, for however long I want, with no obligation to them in any other hour of the day.

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