something with my friday nights
It's not raining, but it might as well be. The sky is sullen, I've spent the day in bed, and reading a book was only partly to blame. (I stopped reading hours ago upon the realization the author used to word "inexplicable" roughly 60 times in the first 100 pages) The word inexplicable is pretentious. I have no explanation for that one, it just is. Overcast days make everything look poverty stricken and moldy. Today was no exception, except, the air was wet and warm and unlike most rainy days here, and so, it reminded me of home. (this inadvertently explains why I took 3 naps today) It's not that I even miss home all that much, it's the idea that my new reality (which I only accept in small temporary doses) is my only reality. And so, reality is unfamiliar and uncomfortable and suspiciously lonely. And this is the reason I am blogging. I wish I had a cooler reason. But now it seems I always have more thoughts in my head than people to tell them too. And this too is unfamiliar. A blank page though, this makes sense. And typed words are so anonymous their entirely personal. And anyway I have this odd feeling that no one really knows me. Especially that no one else sees things like this. And I am strangely preoccupied with the fear that I will step on a pin and it will travel through my veins to my heart and kill me. (my grandma fills my head with such stories) So now that I have stopped sewing, I have to do something with my friday nights.
posted by d @ 12:10 AM
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