i needed to get out last night, and so i went to the diner. not because i wanted to be social, but because i couldn't stand to be in my house anymore, where i can't even ignore my mounting library fines in peace (granted i shouldn't be ignoring them, but somehow it makes me feel better that there's one thing on the planet that i can choose not to think about). so i went out. sat down at the counter, had two cups of tea and a blueberry muffin. and wrote in the paper diary for several hours. it's what i do when i get upset; i write through the misery. probably a lot better than what i used to do to get through life.
i'll give some highlights...i have a feeling this is going to be a multiple-entry kind of day, as there are three separate things i want to write about...anyway:
"i just read entries from this time last year. it's amazing--everything is changed, and absolutely nothing is different. last year was the month before the whole world went insane. i was unemployed. i was lonely and sad and dying from a lack of meaningful conversation.
"and now. now we're talking about bombing iraq. the empire state building is the tallest building in new york. i teach preschool, a few steps up from unemployed. and i'm lonely, sad, and dying from a lack of meaningful conversation. god how pitiful.
"it probably has something to do with missing the possible futures i get a glimpse of at falcon ridge. feeling like, for a little while, i actually had something. like things actually could be peace and love and trail mix all the time. and people i happen to meet could turn out to be really cool and smart and politically aware. that strangers i pass could look at me with interest, and i couuld actually feel pretty and interesting all the time.
"then i come home. and i don't even want to look at trail mix. people i meet are either really dumb, or annoying pseudo-intellectuals. the best conversations i have are with three-year-olds. everything focuses back on earning a living. i feel dull. and the only people who think of me as an attractive person are occasional really freaky people (i'm a magnet for them) who scare me.
"maybe this is how the sixties failed. people eventually had to go home.
"i can think of so many things that would beat the hell out of another night of defensive writing. at the very least, a night of defensive reading.
i need to meet new people."
beatpoetgrrl
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