April 25, 2010

• lately

  I lie in my bed, head pounding. Nearby my roommate watches old vlogbrothers videos on her quest to “get caught up”. Currently John Green is calming himself “stupid stupid stupid” for something having to do with his brother’s birthday. I am out of it. My mind wanders.

  Yesterday. Night. I dreamed. I was home and I was home at the same time. My parents were disappearing. And there was a fire. I remembered it vividly and I thought: I will write about this. But instead I turned around put my head back into my pillow and tried to sleep. I didn’t succeed. But I didn’t want to remember and so I didn’t. And now I don’t. The cat moves from her position at my feet to try and find a better more comfortable position apparently on my face. But I don’t mind. The cat helps me relax.

  Earlier today. I watched season 6 episodes 3 and 4 of Lost. Slowly getting caught up. It’s all about destiny. I recall that Sawyer says “Maybe some people are meant to be alone.” And there’s always John Locke’s demand “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.” Point. Counter point. My head still pounds. Locke is told to accept that there are just some things he cannot do and take a more “realistic” job as a substitute teacher. How many of us fail to accept that? How many of us strive to do things we can’t do and never learn that there are things that aren’t worth striving for? How many of us give up and don’t strive for things we could do if we tried? I really need to finish getting caught up in this series.

  Prior. Unable to sleep, I awaken. Head is starting to hurt. I pick up my now autographed copy of Looking for Alaska. I’ve wanted to reread it so I can write about it. That put’s it in a rare special category of books that I read more than once. There are very VERY few books that make it on that list. The Hobbit, Everything written by Kurt Vonnegut, The Legends by Weis and Hickman, The first 3 books of A Song of Ice and Fire.  A few others. Generally most books I read once. I don’t read fast enough to waste time re-watching. But also most movies I watch once. Most television shows I only watch once. Most everything I only do once. What do I do with all this extra time I should have for not re-experiencing stuff? Nothing. Except I write.  But not today. I read about two chapters before I realize that this book is not exactly the cheerfullest way to start a new day.

  After. My roommate knocks on my door. After a groan I get myself up from my semi-lethargic state. I pause the Lost ep I was watching. Kick the cat off my chest. I get the door. “I have to tell you about the dream I just had!” she says.  I’ve been up all day but she is nocturnal so she just woke up.  I sit down. She tells me. The creativity of her dream astounds me as they always do. At night her subconscious creates entire new worlds. I wonder where imagination comes from. Does it come from dreams? Are we born with it? If you don’t have it can you get it? What’s the going rate on imagination?

  Immediately. Something in our conversation or in her dream reminds her of a song she wrote. There’s a dull thumping in my head. She borrows my laptop and looks up her song on gmail and sings it. It’s beautiful. I tell her she should take a video of herself singing it and put it on youtube. A bit later, she reads a lot of the poetry she wrote back around the time she created that song and in the years following. She’s looking for a specific poem but never finds it. I guess it’s lost. It’s interesting but in my hazy mind I understand the poems she reads. Usually poetry holds little allure for me since it’s generally incomprehensible. Some of these poems she’d sent to me in the past and they were just as inexplicable to me as all other poems. But now, read aloud they make more sense. I think I’ll make it a rule then never to consume poetry in a non-audio form.

  Long before. After giving up on re-reading Alaska for now, and after contemplating and rejecting going to work to get caught up, I decided that if I’m to finish my overdue anti-SGU post, I might as well get caught up on watching the series. That might make the writing easier. Before I had watched only the first 7 episodes.  Today I watch all the way through 14. All the time I watch there is an over-needy cat demanding my attention. Giving the cat attention is, for the most part, more entertaining than watching the show. Nothing in the show resonates with me. And as I watch I feel more and more detached from what I see and from the world in general. There’s just this… empty feeling. And a piercing sensation starts to build around my temple.

  Meanwhile. One of my friends and I exchange some IMs. She tells me of her xbox being completely fried and she tells me of the possible nearby opportunities to fulfill her bucket list item of wanting to meet Richard Dean Anderson before she dies. How strange that I seem to keep finding myself connected with Stargate nerds? But alas looks like she can’t see RDA this year because her trip to Hawaii is already planned and comes first.

  Not too long ago. My roommate hasn’t eaten in like 17 hours and I haven’t eaten in like 8, so it’s probably a good idea to get food. We travel forth and there is a massive storm brewing. I can’t find my phone so I leave without it. We head to the grocery store looking for rotisserie chicken. Alas they are out. So we go to grocery store 2 and they are. So we go to Boston Market, only to find it’s closed. Storm clouds still brewing and a big roiling storm flowing over us.  We drive on. Finally finding a far away KFC. We seem intent on eating poor tortured chickens today and we won’t be denied. So we do (and yes, I do feel bad about that, a little). Though they are out of mac n cheese which we also couldn’t find at either grocery store, at least not the kind we wanted and were denied at boston market due to their closedness. As I drove, my heart beat at an accelerated rate. I feel this need to get home. My eyes keep turning upward toward the storm clouds. Several times I imagine crashes I could have. Things that could go wrong. It’s really dark. Hard even to see the lines on the road. My head starts to hurt more. But fears serve no purpose asides from making me uncomfortable. We make it home without significant event. The storm was blown in a different direction and most of it missed us after all.

  Now. I’m here. Still here. Thinking. Time passes. An hour and a half I took to write this entry. Another thirty minutes spent trying to decide what to write or summon the will to write the many things I’ve long wanted to write.  Here and now there is little but the stiffness in my limbs from lying here so long. My eyes droop out of tiredness. But I don’t want to sleep. My roommate still watches various videos.  My head still hurts. My friend is still online.   And that’s a day.

  We live in a strange world. There’s so much even in the most quiet and uneventful of days. So many thoughts. So many details. We’re taking in data, feeling, dreaming, remembering. Our minds wander. We imagine when we can. We hope when we cannot. We despair when hope fails. And all along we perpetually doubt.

  I’m not sure why I wrote this and I’m even less sure why anyone would read this to completion. But if you did, thanks. I’ll write again tomorrow.

  • 12:41 am
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