Oh dear, it was such a long time ago. But hey! The last one had little italic interludes, and looking back over them, I'm appreciating them quite a bit. So I might write some more of them. Hey, me in a few months. Take note of these - they take a bit of effort and you nod and smile when you see them, don't you? So when you sit down to do this again, chuck them in.
And you're alone in here, except for the shades of everybody else who's been in the room, and the musk of the sex in the bed, and the hum of the machines around you and the memories of everybody who's impacted you and the several thousand people claiming residence inside your mind, spilling out of you all at once. So very alone.
For once I'll begin with romance, instead of pushing it to the back of the post like a pet that's made a mess on the rug. Pat and I have broken up at this point. Only...we haven't stopped sharing a bed. Or having sex. Or telling one another that we love one another. Or looking after one another. Or leaning on one another emotionally...in fact, the only thing we've stopped doing is guilting one another and being passive aggressive and resentful. I'm now in the perfect relationship, and all it took was for me to get out of the relationship.
I cannot express how conflictingly elating and depressing that realization is.
So it was his birthday just finished a few hours ago and he's in the country with his god-awful family and I'm alone here thinking about how important and essential and splendid he is and then feeling a mixture of hatred and happiness for those feelings. It's becoming clear that I need to see a shrink. I've started to go into hysterics with alarming regularity. Hysterics. With alarming regularity. Like I'm some sort of highly strung 1800s woman who can't get through the day without a good bout of fainting.
You're scrabbling at whatever bits are left within reach, floating in the sea around you. They turn out to be sharp - very sharp. They cut your hands to the bone and you're forced to drop them, and instead of holding you afloat, they've attracted sharks. Blood in the water and sharks all around. What else can you do but panic?
I am finding it exceptionally hard to feel confident about my mental state. I can't bring myself to eat. I want to smoke at all hours. I drink too quickly and too much. I crave harder stuff like you wouldn't believe. Sleep doesn't come easily, if at all. Crying comes and goes. Love comes and goes. Wanting to be touched wars with a desperate need to be seperated. Friends are drawn close and shoved aside. Strangers are appreciated and despised. Parents are scorned, then required. I suppose I've done most of these things all my life, but they're so heightened. I wanted dizzying highs and terrifying lows - I've wanted those things all my life - but not in the space of a day, an hour, a minute.
I hate my work. I have never hated my work. I despite it at the moment.
I can't look myself in the eye in the mirror.
I refuse to allow myself to be weak, because when I'm weak I fall apart.
When I'm strong, I'm barely holding myself together.
And so on. An endless litany of depresssive cliches stitched together by nice words. Enough of this.
Put the curtain down and spout some facts, you fool. You want to deal in mundane things, not in this high emotion. You won't relate or care in a year's time.
- I'm glad I'm blogging. People around me keep diaries, or say they do. I don't think I could ever do that. A few days ago I rode on a train and saw a man with a beard that went down to his navel. That's fun in isolation, but surround that with a thousand days, filled with millions of meaningless observations, and it loses punch. In fifty years I'd like to turn this into a book and leave it lying around. That's the dream.
- I haven't seen nearly enough theatre. Rigor Mortis was hilarious and fun, The Economist was the complete opposite. I am a pirate named Cutthroat Jack in the O'Show this year. I sing in five songs and have a few lines. It's quite enjoyable so far, though it lacks the Much Ado feel (despite the fact that most of the Much Ado cast in in it)
- I am running a DnD game at the moment which is a lot of fun. We have a wizard with no name, a Shadar-Kai named Eleanor, an orcish cleric whose name escapes me (who Ollie will probably name in the comments if he reads this), a fey warlock named Garath, and a pirate called Five.
- I am getting a blister on my index finger from typing. This has never happened before.
- I had my sisters down from Canberra for the first time. They seemed to love Melbourne. I seem to love them.
- I have to be up at 9am tomorrow, and it is nearly 2am.
- Tintin was a wonderful film.
Now get out.
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