It's showing

The Bloggess talked about it. Hyperbole and a Half talked about it. I personally spent YEARS (sorry no link, my livejournal is private for a reason) writing about it.

So how come I can't admit it now?

Running around in my head is "I'm too old to act like this. I'm too old to act like this," when I'm slamming doors and crying in the dark. When I'm digging my nails into the palms of my hands in order to feel something so I'm not hyperventilating over life. When I'm just a mess.

I am just a mess.

Today

Writing about stuff on a page that everyone can see is hard.


Correction:

writing is hard.

Desert

I don't write anymore.  I've stopped years ago. The words dried up. I try every so often to come back. To stick with it. I used to write so much. I used to articulate my thoughts so well.

I was better at writing than speaking.


Now it's just conversations in my head about my thoughts about this and that. About this omg awesome new... whatever.

I used to have conversations with people, but that was before my computer died and my current router hating me.

I used to do a lot of things.



I finally got access to my old Ubuntu harddrives from when my computer died in 2008. I missed trying to figure out how to make it work. I missed playing around and feeling like "I KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!!" I missed feeling smart about my computer use. I miss my linux.

I miss my geek friends from IRC and other places. Cause I'm a shut in almost. Oh, I go to work, and out occasionally, but I rarely talk to people outside J.

I hate this.

It's almost like my skin is exposed. I feel raw and incomplete. I want to disappear into the world and reemerge in a few weeks refreshed and with a better router. I need a vacation from people so I can get back to me.

It's times like these where I wished I lived alone.

(444)

Was he so sure another war was coming?
"Another war is always coming, Robert. They are never properly extinguished. What sparks wars? The will to power, the backbone of human nature. The threat of violence, the fear of violence, or actual violence is the instrument of this dreadful will. You can see the will to power in bedrooms, kitchens, factories, unions, and the borders of states. Listen to this and remember it. The nation-state is merely human nature inflated to monstrous proportions. QED, nations are entities whose laws are written in violence. Thus is ever was, so ever shall it be. War, Robert, is one of humanity's two eternal companions."
So, I asked, what was the other?
"Diamonds."

-- Cloud Atlas David Mitchell

(510-110)

It is possible for a writer to make, or remake at least, for a reader, the primary pleasure of eating,or drinking, or looking on, or sex. Novels have their obligatory tour-de-force, the green-flecked gold omelette aux fines herbes, melting into buttery formlessness and tasting of summer, or the creamy human haunch, firm and warm, curved back to reveal a hot hollow, a crisping hair or two, the glimpsed sex. They do not habitually elaborate on the equally intense pleasure of reading. There are obvious reasons for this, the most obvious being the regressive nature of the pleasure, a mise-en-abime even, where words draw attention to the power and delight of words, and so ad infinitum, thus making the imagination experience something papery and dry, narcissistic and yet disagreeably distanced, without the immediacy of sexual moisture or the scented garnet glow of good burgundy. ~ Possession A.S. Byatt

(458)

They were children of a time and culture that mistrusted love, "in love," romantic love, romance in toto, and which nevertheless in revenge proliferated sexual language, linguistic sexuality, analysis, dissection, deconstruction, exposure. They were theoretically knowing: they knew about phallocracy and penisneid, punctuation, puncturing and penetration, about polymorphous and polysemous perversity, orality, good and bad breasts, clitoral tumescence, vesicle persecution, the fluids, the solids, the metaphors for these, the systems of desire and damage, infantile greed and oppression and transgression, the iconography of the cervix and the imagery of the expanding and contracting Body, desired, attacked, consumed, feared. ~ Possession by A.S. Byatt

(61)

"Young girls are sad. THey like to be; it makes them feel strong."

--Poseession by A. S. Byatt