Aren’t you sometimes sorely tempted to throw all of your niceprettybodythatyoulovesomuch in front of a real heavy and speeding truck/bus/other heavy vehicle that you know won’t be able to swerve on time?

As a little person, all the grown-ups probably looked like grownups to you: intimidating, in-control, powerful. When you grew up a little, it all changed, didn’t it? You probably realized that some of them are really not qualified enough to be grownups at all. But they get to be. And they still get to make decisions on your behalf. You probably made a list in your head, then, about things you wanted to never find yourself doing, certain patterns of behavior you found admirable, things you wanted to learn to do and do right… Do you remember any of it?

************************************************************************************
My eyes are smarting: too much pollution. I am having a very bad Christmas eve. I don’t like people staying too long in my room. I don’t like relatives staying over either.

************************************************************************************

So anyway, the past few weeks have been torture. And God, it won’t hurt you to just maybe allow me a little goodtime sometimes? I know its all because I never listen to myself and cease to look forward to things that involve other people. By some mysterious confluence of energies, other people seem to get some of it. Why not me?

It all becomes fun in the act of narration. Is that it? If you replay your goodtime to yourself no matter how miserable it was, it becomes the goodtime you were looking for.

So either you don’t look for anything thats not specified down to the very last detail so that you can then create it for yourself, or you create it for yourself after it’s come to pass: so that you make it just as you want it to be.

************************************************************************************

Sometimes I can’t remember any of it. The realgoodtimes, you know? But you need to have at least one clear memory of one of those. They’re good for some cheering up, you know? Make you feel a little alive, sometimes, not just the opposite of dead. If you have one clear memory, you could hold on to it when you feel like you’re about to sink.

Exodus

Thank GOD this year is going to be over soon.

Already I have forgotten most of the things I thought I’ll cherish. Easy forgetfulness is nice on cruel occasions, I suppose. But humiliation one cannot forget. How useless, then.

I imagine when I am old and grey I will only have stories for memories.

But the people who inhabited my head are all leaving me. Only the sad ones visit, when I need to vent.

And all this while, you felt that perhaps it will be alright, because the person in front of you seemed to listen, arrange their face appropriately at the appropriate times, even. But then, they don’t give a shit about you, really. You know it. And yet, its a comforting charade. As you talk, you arrange it all into nice little words. They provide a very convenient way to wall things up into nice little boxes. Because, you feel so much better if its all arranged.

Of course the person opposite is probably doing their own arranging inside their heads. You can’t really blame them.

We’re all busy arranging away in our own minds. Where’s the time for other things?

Joychasing.

Everything must be in order. She must clean the house. She didn’t need anybody else. There was so much to do. That’s how it goes. Once you’ve figured out the things to do, you don’t need anybody else.

She must dust and wash and mop. And again. Until everything is in order. Shiny. She will not go out to play today. She must finish it all by tonight. Everything must be in order.

She was hungry when she was arranging the food in the fridge. No, she wasn’t. It was the sight of food. She was turning into a glutton. Thinking about food. But once she started thinking about it she couldn’t stop. She remembered the taste of everything that she liked. She remembered the smell. Then she put it away. She will savor it after she was finished with arranging and reordering and cleaning and washing. Then she will be at peace.

She was sad because the children upstairs did not ask her to go with them to see the fireworks yesterday. Their mom probably told them to ask her today. But today she was happy. She had other stuff to get on with. She wasn’t shy and grateful today. She told them to go without her, she had something to do that pleased her better.

December

And all of a sudden the world seems to lend itself to vaselinesmearedlenses, no? This time of the year when your feet are cold and the afternoons chilly, it makes you want to have friends, no? Not friends that might’ve come out of Milan Kundera’s head, but real ones maybe? You want to tell them you wouldn’t remember a thing of your life if you didn’t talk to them about it- now, ten years from now- no? You want to tell them to save you from forgetting.

But there is no time, no time. You must convince others. You must make a life, make a life. And all the sadness of these shortchillyafternoons? You wont remember them when you have made a life.