| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I've had too much of nothing ... stomach still sore ... talked with K about it this morning, she agrees that maybe it�s more of a metaphysical thing - like a few weeks ago when I thought I was dying from appendicitis or something -maybe this is just what happens when I internalize all of this shit... Good feedback at work today...something positive... therapy yesterday...was good...though, as always before, I dread going. Dreading getting into that state of mind, especially when I am succeeding so well otherwise at just placing myself in a nice little cocoon of non-feeling. Then I go there and I must talk about those feelings I�ve cocooned and then I start to feel and then suddenly the tears are welling up in my eyes again. And oh my eyes. S - my therapist - says when she looks in my eyes she sees a lost three-year-old. She says I need to take care of that three-year-old. �Reparent� or something like that. I�m not sure exactly how I do something like that without feeling false...but then last night I dreamt about myself as a three-year-old child. I�m not sure what happened in the dream I just have this vision of me: small with a headful of curls (before my hair grew long and straightened out) and dark eyes. I think I am wearing that blue dress and shiny patent leather mary jane shoes. That�s all I can see though ... E-mail from the Poet this morning...said he listened to �Stranger�s Almanac� last night and, as usual, thought of me. At one point in my life that would have both upset and excited me. Now it just soothes me. I told him we must be pyschic because I listened to that album *twice* yesterday and thought of him, particularly on �Dancing with the Woman at the Bar� ... I do miss him. I need a few hours at the coffeeshop with cigarettes and coffee and conversation... No word from the Rock Star since Thursday and quite honestly I�m glad. Really. Rock Stars are so predictably boring these days. I�ve had too much. I�ve had too much of nothing. I�m carrying on and sometimes, at odd moments, I think of him. Fondly at first and then there is the flash of realization: �Oh yes, he is busy picking up girls in bars for one night stands ...� So, whatever. He respects me. He cares for me too much. Great. Thanks. Someday thoughts of him and his words might soothe me in the same way as the Poet. Someday. Maybe. But until then, I want you not around ... �I don't have to talk "Summer Salts" - Kristin Hersh When I get to *that* point then I know it will be OK... 10:06 a.m. - 2001-06-12
sounds: ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- previously on ... - next time on ...
money can't buy happiness but it does buy small pieces of of serenity - 15.07.12 - 4:29 pm sh)t's about to get real, y'all - 31.05.12 - 9:46 am why the hell not? - 29.04.12 - 8:38 pm Hear that lonesome whistle blow... - 02.04.12 - 5:18 pm a faith in something I can't see - 30.03.12 - 3:33 pm |
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