January 6th, 2003


and Back again

No new news in paticular that needs discussed. I am here enjoying my freedom with Matt in school and mom napping and dad working.

We got back from the movies at midnight last night. The movie was intense, but I am glad I saw it. I wouldn't see it again, though. I liked the characterization, I thought that was a key to film. I especially liked the "Butcher". He was a bit mad, but very energetic and full of wild flare. I couldn't watch all the knife-fights, I have a thing against jabbing a naked blade into someone's flesh...but when the soldiers shot down rows of rioters and bullets tore through the air and masses - that I could handle. I think the scene that got me the most - other than the great opener - was when the childhood buddy of the Priest's son died - or was killed, I guess. He was so naive compared to the rest and didn't stand much of a chance - kinda like me. ;_;

I slept all right in spite of my anxiety but had odd dreams of museums and messages and fellow students and even black riders. Yeah, I dreamt that I had to deliver something to a young lady accross the street, and I was smuggling it in a bag of chex mix so the black rider who ambushed me (not on horseback at the time) didn't find it. Then I was on some march and we were getting bombed and I was just like get me outta here I quit! I must stop my weirdo daydreamings which I have kept up for so many years. Matt says my eyes unfocus and glaze over..too many years of pained daydreams on school buses. I still see the weeping child inside me when I settle down to sleep - it still hasn't gone away and weeps for my lost innocence (even before I ever lost it). Nostalgia is just a burden.

But Nichole said something interesting on the way home. She claims that being guilty is bad. Ok, it is not cost-efficient, but in small amounts is a good thing - a tempering thing. It keeps me sensative and thoughtful and sincere. I do agree I am a little over-indulgent in my guilt though. Runs very very strong in my blood. Maybe that is why I never stand up for myself, and sometimes hate myself so strongly? Just a thought. But guilt can eat one alive, yes. Ok, maybe it is not guilt that I am defending as much as sensativity. But with sensativity comes guilt, and pain. Why am I so sensative to some things, and in everything else so insensative and unmoved and require daydreaming and obsessions to feel any sort of emotional stimulation whatsoever? I can be so dead to all the world yet so loud and lively. I am a person of double-think in action. Everything I do I seem to counteract somehow. Some way to live, eh? But I love it ^_^ It keeps me sane and interested in life.


I just feel in a writing mood. So I continue-

I wonder what life would be like without interests, hobbies, and continual periods of obsession? I cannot see myself without a topic - I am inseperable from them because they color my life and make me what I am, even though the heart of me never changes. While watching The Gangs of New York, I thought to myself - this is hard and dirty. I could never live like that. I could not live in the real world. I feed like Shelob off the glorious and pure until I move onto something else. Man, that sounds so horrible! I am not a terrible person..I am just a lonely, beauty-loving, sensative person. I would rather get lost in a book than a party, and love a character rather than a person. That is just me. Try to change it, but it is hopeless - like Gollum and the ring ^^.
I do love it when the outside world comes just close enough to touch, and it encourages me that I am remembered by someone. I do greatly appriciate that much, as I have said before. I still avoid thinking about all aspects of my life involving getting absorbed in the world: plays, school, driving, etc. It is a great burden on me, I feel it as a dark cloud, depressing my thoughts and poisoning my mood. Maybe I am lost, but I am kind, and thoughtful of life, and will flow along with the current and aid those around me by listening or making art for them..I can love, but I love things. I can care, but the deepest kind died within me a few years ago, and that sickly wreakless care is painful. You just have to look deep into me to find all that, or just notice the subtlety of my exterior character to find that dedication and love for the world. It is there, but I spend it out on obsessions to keep me from dying of boredom. Boredom is the heaviest burden of all sometimes....