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Flowing down the melting stream of consciousness: an old iceberg. Rebounding. Rebounding from the rebound of a rebound. Things get too confusing. I am angry(ish) that I only had - what? - two weeks or so of being free and alone with no designs on anyone. Then swoops in a crush on someone and uhh any other obstacles or whatever become not quite so interesting. It's even so uninteresting that I can't be bothered articulating it. See, if you don't know what I'm talking about, sorry, I'm too on to something else to explain it any better. Hee hee hee hee hee, and this is how immature I am. Also: impatient. Also: fully aware of the fact that I thoroughly enjoy this stage of the game, this long drawn-out dance of not knowing, of nothing, really. I thoroughly enjoy this stage but always am so impatient and one night you'll be sitting there on your living room floor with Nick Drake playing and I will crawl over and kiss you. I hate that - see? In creeps the vestiges of some asshole who I'm supposed to be over and done with, resolved before I move on to something else. Obviously I'm not because obviously those vestiges creep in for a reason. Obviously - if I look through notebooks and have to close them lest I see words like: "Drifting off to sleep there was a loud noise and the sound of something falling. Is that outside? I asked. It's outside, people rummaging, we're safe, he said, and he kissed my hand that I'd put on his hand." Oh god: "I was telling him about going to shows and getting there early 'like an asshole' and he started laughing at the way I say my Os and he said 'Say town. Please.'" "Yesterday morning we walked to the bus and had separate seats until the guy I was next to moved and then he sat with me and I put my hand through his arm. And we got off a few blocks early and walked. And then we got to our building, and went up the escalator, and got in the elevator, and walked to our desks together. And at the end of the day we left together." - I remember this day. He was wearing his black North Face jacket and if I kind of feel like barfing right now... should I keep looking through these things or should I put them away? I kind of feel like barfing right now and I think I should put them away and I want to go back a year and a half and ask myself what the fuck I was thinking, writing all this down. Why was I doing that? To torture myself? If I hadn't written that down it never would have happened and I would be fine here with the clutter of two or three fewer notebooks and there would be no vague panicky barfy feeling and I wouldn't be so fucking immaturely emo. It's bad enough to be listening to Stars again tonight, it's bad enough to be typing incoherently, but to start quoting my old self? I need to be shot. And if I write stuff like "any other obstacles or whatever become not quite so interesting" - a direct quote, written only ten minutes ago, and I really thought it was true then... Sometimes I wish my conscious self could have a conversation with my subconscious self. It would be helpful. We could clear up a lot of things.
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