Ever have those days when you end up feeling absolutely defeated? The past three or so Mondays have been like that for me. Which makes going to and being aware during Tuesday morning’s Civil Procedure class difficult. I’m trying to read and prepare for it right now, but it’s tough. I’m strongly considering heading home, sleeping, and just showing up to CivPro totally unprepared. Trying to psych myself up, read, and understand. Here’s to hoping. For the time being, maybe writing a bit and throwing words on the screen will provide some understanding, clarity, or perspective. And, at the very least, it’s not Civil Procedure…
I dreamt last night that I had finished writing in a journal and that all the entries were about a girl. I don’t remember if they were written for her, or just about her, but I do remember being surprised that enough time had passed to write an entire book about her. I’ve only finished one journal way back when, and, appropriately enough, it was mainly about a girl. About The girl. This was before she went from ‘a’ to ‘the’ but it’s interesting to be reminded back to it and its eventual completion. Its completion was supposed to signify the transition in life from “my” life to “our” life. A new shared journal for us. Cheesy, but that’s what was supposed to happen.
It never got finished.
The thing, though, is that I don’t know the why about it. Rather, I don’t understand it. I don’t know what happened to me, I don’t know why I changed or what it meant. And it’s years — years — later now. I don’t know the why and the mathematical equation of Feelings/Honesty as a function of T, Time doesn’t make sense. Where’s the constant? Where’s the factor that explains what happened? Where’s the architectural explanation for what made the temple collapse?
I was recently told that my list of 100 things isn’t true anymore, or that my behavior indicates otherwise. But I feel they are still true, I’m still very much in that list. And that list is still very much me. That beard is never gonna grow out, but I’m 100% that I’d look totally dignified and smart. Running, going to mass, and her eyes all are sources of solace and harbor. And I still miss the third, not having someone – which, sure, every single person is, at some point going to miss being with someone, but that’s not what it’s about. Am I just self-destructive? Broken? Why does that song, Autoclave keep on repeating?
The math doesn’t work and it’s the only thing that somehow puts everything together. And I continue to try to talk to the gods and go slowly nuts. At least I’m putting on the miles…
And I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no one in her right mind would make her home my home
My heart’s an autoclave, my heart’s an autoclave.