I just watched Cyrus, and though I am ashamed to admit how much of my emotional reactions are based on films I watch, I feel colder than this blizzard outside right now.
Often, I feel as though I am doing important things. Not important as in the sense that these are great things, or that I am holding them above anyone. No. However, these things (whether it is writing intently, working hard at school, trying to make it to every event for every friend, trying to just be a decent person) get sleighted by my overwhelming desire to have a significant other. To say that, just to push that out there, to admit this is what I want is vastly important, it is paramount.
For the first time in a long time, I have been consecutively been producing work.
As a result, I am entertaining the idea of calling my manuscript, "To Feel The Vacation." Maybe that was stupid to announce just now, but it's not like I have any royalties ahead or much to lose.
Need to find a job starting in the spring. My long-term goal is to teach English as a foreign language abroad. My long-term goals seldom work out. Who can really plan a bowel movement anyway?
I have been oddly happy for too long. I would say I have not even been clinically depressed in about three years. Fuck that! Depression is healthy, sometimes.
I notice that I have been trying so hard to be an archetype. Always have been really. But moreso than ever. It's fucking exhausting. I try to be that guy who has something terribly special to say at any momemnt. I am not nearly that clever.
John Keats said that the poet is the most unpoetic of all living creatures. Cheers to you Johnny boy and your negative capability.
Maybe it wouldn't kill me to let myself feel something every now and then. Maybe it wouldn't kill me to try that outside of a television, a screen, a false unreciprocity.
Rolling a snow man to the door step. Please, melt. Melt all over the fucking kitchen floor!
