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Random Notebook Scribbles
Sometimes you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Other times you don't know what you've got till you've had it a while. Me, I never know what I've got until I swallow it whole and cough up the bones.
The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn, cause my little boy blue choked to death on his horn
Sometimes I wish that I never wished that I was never born.
Somewhere in California, she found a montessori school named "Beach High". Not like she had much choice - it was either Beach High, or get high on the beach. So, despite it's lack of accreditation, it was there that M- completed her high school education.
I wonder if plastic surgeons could create a marsupial-like pouch on my abdomen. You know, if I wanted one, that is.
Why can't I stop dreaming of the love of my life, when I live with the love of my dreams?
"Well, if I had an emotional scar for every time I heard that, I'd . . . I'd . . . oh, wait. Shit."
Samuel was absolutely average and perfectly unremarkable in any way. Unless you count the fact that he was reared in a giant Skinner box.
Today, I couldn't remember whether I was 18 or 19. Recalling my birth year didn't help either, as my math skills are too poor for that sort of arithmetic. So I counted forward from the first time I bought cigarettes for a minor. Yup. 19.
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It's 6am, too late for the owls and too early for the larks - unless you count this Lark. Illness and circumstance have caused my sleep schedual (such as it is) to reverse. I've become notcurnal. This is all well and good unless I want to interact with the outside world. Life gets a little dull when all your friends are sleeping through your concious hours. That, and Starbucks closes at 11pm.
So I've decided to rectify my circadian rhythm by doing what I do best: staying up all night. And all day. And hopefully making it until 10 or 11 pm tomorrow. I'm keeping myself occupied by doing countless unecessary beauty treatments, such as conditioning my hair and waxing off all my pubic hair. It's nice mindless work; even though morning may find me delerious, I'll be one GORGEOUS zombie, by thunder!
*RRIIIIP!* OUCH!
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It's snowing. I'm spending Christmas in southwest texas and it's SNOWING. A beautiful fluke, if you ask me. I know it won't stick; in a few hours, all Houston will have to show for this miracle is cold mud and dead flowers. Nevertheless, I'm enchanted.
One can't help but pity the Houston bums, however. Vagrants in New York city know how to handle snow. They've been surviving it for years. But I would imagine that Texan hobos hardly know what to do with themselves tonight. The city should distribute bottles of cheap gin to help keep them warm.
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Returning to my highschool venues feels strange and disarming. The last six months are nothing; I have emerged abruptly from a Narnian cupboard and reassumed Texas as if I had never left. College is but a fantasy. I never lived before today.
My friends haven't changed as much as I feared they would. We repeat the patterns of past behaviors out of sheer familiarity and find that our gears still turn. Deja vu compells me to correct the omissions of yesterday. I make apologies and confessions where they are due. Old silences shatter. Speculations fail. Providence has afforded me another chance - the break I need to sleep soundly through the St. Louis nights.
Everything makes sense this time around. I am not so much a participant as a player of a well-studied role. Not so much a variable now as a tendency.
This is fun.
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6 unbearable social interactions. At least by my experience (and the experiences of a few friends). All of these are real occurances!
1. you go into the E.R. with severe abdominal pain, fearing appendicitis. The sexy doctor on duty examines you thoroughly and concludes that your "life-threatening discomfort" is nothing more than gas pains.
2. significant other "A" comes into your house one morning to surprise you with unmitigated love and finds you passed out in bed with illicit lover "B".
3. gyno has to extract a fake nail from your . . . garden.
4. your asshole friends scream "Dude! Get off the phone! We need more lube! Ow, it's chafing. Get off the phone now, man! Bring the lube over here." when you're on the phone with your pastor.
5. old woman you meet on the bus recounts the compelling drama of her latest colonoscopy.
6. you remove 3 gig fat-chick and tranny-granny porn from your kid brother's computer.
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And now, I'm going to "examine my navel" so to speak. You've been warned.
Time performs strange alterations upon one's identity and affect. College has been both the best and worst transition I've ever endured. Because of it, I have been forced to reckon with mental illnesses, destructive habits, and character flaws which have beset me for so long that I regard them as the defining boundries and guywires of my personality. To even recognize these dessonances as the source of my coninuous misery - much less, attempt to rectify them - suggests that I must derange myself further and rebuild from scratch.
At least, that is how have viewed my situation until this afternoon. While riding to the airport, I experienced what alcoholics refer to as "a moment of clarity." Perhaps there is more to me than sheer persona. Perhaps I am neither cursed nor blessed. Perhaps beneith it all, the central level of my Self remains original, uncomplicated by mistranslated and ill-guided attempts at identity.
Or perhaps I've already slaughtered my moral fiber and character.
Ah yes, it's true. The serotonin slips away from my synapses. Neuronal bridges burn, and I can now see my past actions for what they were - quests for an exterior which adequitly markets "Larkin" to a public of social consumers. I had to have it, too, no matter the cost of comfort, the burden of consideration, or the degree to which I betrayed my spirit.
I have strove to be radical. In all aspects, I have expressed my greed for individuality;defiance and abbhoration walk hand-in-hand with my revolutionary triumphs. I tried to be cynical and disenchanted, as if I alone possessed the secret of how to achieve rapture and were merelly biding my time in this realm before escaping to somewhere more stimulating. Mystery attracts spectators by baiting their curiousity. But under all this vaguery lies nothing. Nothing!
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Well, it certainly has been a while, hasn't it, gentle readers? That is, if any of you remain after my extended abscence. I sorely doubt it. Nonetheless, the blog is back in business, for myself if no one else.
At the moment, I have little to say. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if I ever did.
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