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09 October 2005 : this impossible ocean, part 2.
it never really matters what's going on.
you have a clean room and coldplay on the stereo.
your roommates made dinner and you're all caught up on your homework.
you like the way you look, you're comfortable in your soft bed.
you have the best friends, you're sure, that anyone ever had.
you have the best family, you're sure, that anyone ever had.
you're looking forward to the next several weeks - the weather, the people, the knowledge you're going to acquire.
you like a boy. more than you've liked a boy in say, three years.
you are well rested, recently responsible, accomplished, loved. the wind is just chilly enough and it is blowing through the windows, over your shoulders. your cat is curled up purring in the curve of your hip.
still it doesn't matter.
because you just sat down for a second to catch your breath and it all came flowing in. that familiar sadness. you're never sure if it feels beautiful because it is or if it feels beautiful because you want to justify it. either way, you're going to have a lot of trouble working out of it.
suddenly you can't concentrate. the room around you is dim. you've smoked cigarette after cigarette until your throat is raw and you just can't calm down. you are nervous about nothing, because nothing is happening. you can't stand the idea of yourself existing.
and now that you're older, there are no words you can write, no chords you can play, no pictures you can draw that will make it recede. now that you're older you just have to wait it out.
but you were so sick last night, so sick this morning. you didn't get out of bed until after two, you've only been awake for seven hours and you're going to be awake at least seven more. all you can do is let it settle, let it take over. you can't go downstairs because you have to wear it like a badge and your roommates will see it, they will ask you what is wrong. you don't want to talk about it because you won't know what to say - there is nothing to say.
it just comes, and it takes over, and it's there. if you're lucky, it will be gone by tomorrow, when you have to get yourself up and enter the world.
and you still won't know where it came from, or where it goes when it's gone. only that it is real surely as you are and it will always, always be back.
posted by lindsay at 23:13 ::
it never really matters what's going on.
you have a clean room and coldplay on the stereo.
your roommates made dinner and you're all caught up on your homework.
you like the way you look, you're comfortable in your soft bed.
you have the best friends, you're sure, that anyone ever had.
you have the best family, you're sure, that anyone ever had.
you're looking forward to the next several weeks - the weather, the people, the knowledge you're going to acquire.
you like a boy. more than you've liked a boy in say, three years.
you are well rested, recently responsible, accomplished, loved. the wind is just chilly enough and it is blowing through the windows, over your shoulders. your cat is curled up purring in the curve of your hip.
still it doesn't matter.
because you just sat down for a second to catch your breath and it all came flowing in. that familiar sadness. you're never sure if it feels beautiful because it is or if it feels beautiful because you want to justify it. either way, you're going to have a lot of trouble working out of it.
suddenly you can't concentrate. the room around you is dim. you've smoked cigarette after cigarette until your throat is raw and you just can't calm down. you are nervous about nothing, because nothing is happening. you can't stand the idea of yourself existing.
and now that you're older, there are no words you can write, no chords you can play, no pictures you can draw that will make it recede. now that you're older you just have to wait it out.
but you were so sick last night, so sick this morning. you didn't get out of bed until after two, you've only been awake for seven hours and you're going to be awake at least seven more. all you can do is let it settle, let it take over. you can't go downstairs because you have to wear it like a badge and your roommates will see it, they will ask you what is wrong. you don't want to talk about it because you won't know what to say - there is nothing to say.
it just comes, and it takes over, and it's there. if you're lucky, it will be gone by tomorrow, when you have to get yourself up and enter the world.
and you still won't know where it came from, or where it goes when it's gone. only that it is real surely as you are and it will always, always be back.
posted by lindsay at 23:13 ::