I wonder if that's gonna be my new thing: only updating the blog late at night, when I find myself unable to fall asleep. Seems quite plausible, especially since I finally dragged the laptop from its resting place in the kitchen and put it on the bedside window for easy access. After all, I can't possibly be expected to get up and cover that meter-and-a-half to my desktop, right?
Still working on a comfortable writing position though. It's very important to get the pile of gigantic pillows just right.
So, these are my current dilemmas. And that's actually the definitive manifest. Which bothers me a bit, to be honest. Last night W. took me out to dinner, to celebrate my birthday. It was actually quite unexpected, because it's such a... grown-up thing to do. And we don't do grown-up, ever. We are for each other the security blanket you reach for when life gets a bit too overwhelming, that shot of tried and true you sometimes need to even your keel... I wonder if that's even a word, or an expression, and if it means what I think it does. It just popped into my head literally out of nowhere, and I'm so tired of second-guessing my every sentence that I refuse to research it.
So where was I... Right, our private time capsule. It's actually quite funny - last night I realized that once again I started leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, and had to stop myself, because we don't do that. Because when people first started doing it in high school, we decreed it as lame and affected, and made a pact to boycott the entire thing. And this custom - or lack thereof - survived, fossilized, to this day. Over 10 years. We don't even think about it, it's just not something we do. So peculiar.
But I stopped one layer short of the point - what I wanted to say is that I had absolutely nothing to say. The dinner was incredibly nice, and I felt happy, but as I sat there, listening to her amusing anecdotes, I tried over and over to find something to reciprocate with, and the best I could come up with was a story that my parents had told me 3 weeks ago.
I've no idea what the fuck is wrong with me. I've never had this problem, I was always spewing gibberish left and right. I used to craft the most insignificant, random things that happened to me on my way over somewhere into tiny anecdotes, just so I'd have something for an opening salvo. I don't think my life is any emptier than it was before (how's that for an optimistic statement?), so maybe I've just lost the interest in people required to observe and fish out those amusing details...
I don't know, but either way, I ran out of steam. I leave you with something appropriately broken and hypnotic.
Still working on a comfortable writing position though. It's very important to get the pile of gigantic pillows just right.
So, these are my current dilemmas. And that's actually the definitive manifest. Which bothers me a bit, to be honest. Last night W. took me out to dinner, to celebrate my birthday. It was actually quite unexpected, because it's such a... grown-up thing to do. And we don't do grown-up, ever. We are for each other the security blanket you reach for when life gets a bit too overwhelming, that shot of tried and true you sometimes need to even your keel... I wonder if that's even a word, or an expression, and if it means what I think it does. It just popped into my head literally out of nowhere, and I'm so tired of second-guessing my every sentence that I refuse to research it.
So where was I... Right, our private time capsule. It's actually quite funny - last night I realized that once again I started leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, and had to stop myself, because we don't do that. Because when people first started doing it in high school, we decreed it as lame and affected, and made a pact to boycott the entire thing. And this custom - or lack thereof - survived, fossilized, to this day. Over 10 years. We don't even think about it, it's just not something we do. So peculiar.
But I stopped one layer short of the point - what I wanted to say is that I had absolutely nothing to say. The dinner was incredibly nice, and I felt happy, but as I sat there, listening to her amusing anecdotes, I tried over and over to find something to reciprocate with, and the best I could come up with was a story that my parents had told me 3 weeks ago.
I've no idea what the fuck is wrong with me. I've never had this problem, I was always spewing gibberish left and right. I used to craft the most insignificant, random things that happened to me on my way over somewhere into tiny anecdotes, just so I'd have something for an opening salvo. I don't think my life is any emptier than it was before (how's that for an optimistic statement?), so maybe I've just lost the interest in people required to observe and fish out those amusing details...
I don't know, but either way, I ran out of steam. I leave you with something appropriately broken and hypnotic.
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